


Unscented

by Bloopy42



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Pre-Series, Unrequited Love, World War I, everyone just wants love, peaky cuties
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:34:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21881602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloopy42/pseuds/Bloopy42
Summary: Being a friend to a young Thomas Shelby is hard. Being a friend to a young Thomas Shelby in love is worse.A pre-war character study and romance through the lens of an OFC.
Relationships: Greta Jurossi/Tommy Shelby, Tommy Shelby/Original Character(s)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

Having no sense of smell was considered a gift from God if you were born and raised in Birmingham. It was considered destiny if you were thusly partial to a career where your main duties involved shoveling horse shit from dawn until dusk. Elsie hardly considered herself fortunate to have all of these fates thrown upon her in her young age, but perhaps she could admit she was, in some ways, lucky. She had her health, which could not be said for many children who grew up amidst the smoke and smog. She had her older brother, Curly, who was her sole companion following their orphaning. And she had a job. Full of shit as it was, it was far less than the amount everyone else in that godforsaken place seemed to wade through daily. Yes, a job with horses, beautiful creatures she oftentimes found far more sociable than people. Albeit far from perfect, Elsie knew there were worse positions to be in than the stables. She didn’t even mind the ill-repute of her employers. Times were changing, and a woman’s respectability mattered far less than having a roof over her head and food on her plate.

It was 1915. The war was on the lips of anyone who had them, which eventually deterred Elsie’s once-frequent visits to the pubs. Drinks were had hardly in celebration anymore, only to ignite rage and bury grief. The carpenters and stable boys were sent off in droves, bit by bit leaving her and her brother to mind the horses shorthanded. With every morning, it seemed, a new face was gone, and the ones remaining were frozen in a question of whether or not they would be next. The one thing Elsie learned to smell was fear.

It did not break her. She was under the notion that she could not be broken, unlike the many nags whose wild spirits she’d spent months dulling. Instead, she kept a tight mouth and her eyes down while she acted as though the world would continue turning.

Yet, in that bleak midnight hour in frosty November, she worried whether it would for the brown mare shivering and whickering under her care. She’d been up with the beast since daybreak, trying every remedy she could think of to steady her. Now, all that was left to do was wait and see if she made it through the night. If she did, perhaps she’d be racing again inside of a week. If not…she’d have a lot to answer for.

Elsie opened the stall, her teeth grating as the wooden door did, so the dim lamp hanging overhead spilled dusty light onto the dirt ground. Fresh air, as fresh as one could get in Small Heath, was perhaps a good thing. The sound of the air inhaled through the deep, cavernous nostrils was satisfying, and Elsie felt her breathing match up once again to the larger lungs beside her. She threw one more blanket upon the quaking heap already covering the mare’s back, and prayed it would be enough.

She saw his shadow before she even heard his footsteps, and like at the sight of a specter, the great horse was spooked. Elsie turned at once to console her, tugging gently on her long nose and whispering hushed words until the whinnying subsided.

“Shh,” She spoke as close to the tall ears as she could go. “ _Kushti,_ sweet. _Kushti Bok_.”

“Do they like it more when you talk gypsy to ‘em?” His voice was quiet and low, but always commanded attention like a king. Elsie didn’t turn at first. It was better to make him work for it.

“It’s softer,” She said, running her palm down the horse’s neck. “Kinder. A departure from the harsh English words they hear shouted from their backs.”

“Ah,” He said, boldly stepping into the stall and cupping the horse’s face in his hands. She didn’t fight it, almost like he had instantly put her in a trance. Elsie didn’t move, and when they were side by side she felt how much taller he was than her. There was a time when they’d been equals, briefly. But that had long since passed. “ _Kushti bok,_ then, eh, Loosefire? _Ov yilo isi_?”

Elsie watched him for a moment, his eyes locked with the creature as though they were dear old friends. He had a bond with animals that she’d often been jealous of. _“They can tell when you’re afraid of them,”_ he’d said on the first day they’d met. His eyes had been even bluer as a boy. _“I’m not afraid!”_ she’d insisted, but there was nothing more fearsome than a wild stallion—so she’d thought, as a child.

His natural, confident instinct didn’t mean there were things she couldn’t teach him, and soon they were trading secrets about equestrian care and conning, just like their Romani ancestors. That he was always willing to learn was a trait she’d never known in a man, and it made her both nervous and intrigued.

“What are you doing here, Tommy?” She finally asked.

He didn’t take his eyes off of Loosefire, holding his hypnotic gaze until the horse was back to breathing normally again.

“Ran into me uncle at the Garrison. Said you were still out here, so I came to see how our girl’s doing.

Elsie sniffed. Charlie never seemed to pay her mind, unless he found out she was sticking her nose where it didn’t belong. Upon entering his employ, she had wanted to work in his scrapyard and prove herself a more worthy apprentice, but of course it was Curly who had won him over in the end. It surprised her to hear Charlie was considering her wellbeing that evening, but perhaps guilt had snuck its way into his heart after all.

“She’s better, no thanks to you and ‘im,” She said haughtily. “Are you going to tell me what you gave her?”

He hesitated for a moment before stifling a grin.

“Hey, what’s it matter now? She’s won us big and she’s not dead yet.”

“ _Yet_ , being the key word here.”

Tommy just smiled and shook his head, continuing to stroke the horse’s mane.

“She’ll live, Els,” He said as though addressing a child. “Go and get some sleep.”

Elsie felt her face flush red with anger. She stepped out in front of him, forcing him to look at her.

“You haven’t been with her since the race. She’s got spasms, chills…She’s been on death’s door more times than I can count today, and who’s been the one to pull her through? _Me_. So excuse me if I’d like to be by her side and see this through.”

He was already wetting a cigarette against his lips, an accessory that completed his look as much as his hat. Still, he was unperturbed.

“So why not put her down, then?”

“She’s not lame!” Elsie almost shouted.

“And she’s not ill, either. She’s coming off it.”

“Off _what?_ ” said Elsie. “Did you put whiskey in her trough while I wasn’t looking? Or was it morphine?” Tommy stood there with an aggravating half smile as he lit his stick, but said nothing. “They’re not like you. They won’t just ‘come off it’ and be alright, it takes time. I’ve heard of drugged up horses who don’t even make it through their races, their hearts stopped.”

“Sounds like you’re challenging me,” Tommy said, leaning against the stable wall. “A shilling says she’ll live through the night.”

He knew how to entice her. She may have taught him everything there was to know about horses, but gambling was his domain and she longed to be in it. She was stubborn, though, and maintained her pout as she stared him down.

“I’m not wagering on her life,” Elsie said coolly.

“Fair enough. That same shilling, plus another, says she’ll be running again tomorrow.”

She considered this, hiding her flicker of a smile by stepping to the opposite side of Loosefire’s neck.

“You’re on,” She replied. He’d told her many times before that if she weren’t a sensible girl, she’d have a career in gambling. Just as she’d reminded him that if he weren’t a Shelby, he’d live in the stables like her. There had been a time when that name hadn’t meant a thing, but Elsie could not remember it. To have a family name with a reputation that was being built on with each passing moment seemed like a burden she would not want to bear. In truth, she hadn’t the faintest idea where she came from, and she was better off for it.

She watched him quietly for a moment, the smell of his smoke circling into her nose and warming her. He was distracted. By that point in their conversation, he should have offered her a cig as well. He didn’t like to smoke alone when he didn’t have to.

“She didn’t come tonight, did she?” Elsie asked, finally. “How long were you waiting?”

He tossed the butt of his cigarette to the ground and pressed his toe against it with the same satisfaction of squashing a bug.

“Who the fuck knows?” He muttered. “Hours, at least. Was nothing, though. She was out half the night last week for me.”

“I know. Gave her that nasty cough,” Elsie smiled. “So that’s why you came, mm? To see if I knew what kept her?”

Tommy ignored this and circled back around the horse to fix his shark-like eyes on Elsie.

“What say we take Loosey out into the field for the night, eh?” He suggested, a sudden spark in his voice that had not been there earlier. “We’ll light a fire. I’ll grab a bottle. Just like we used to.”

 _Just like we used to_. Before he had started school. Before he’d lost his mother. Before he’d met his Italian girl. Before he had changed. The offer was too enticing to refuse.

It took some coaxing, but they managed to walk Loosefire all the way past the canal and to the large clearing where the soil had just been tilled. The ground was soft, and the horse’s grunts subsided the moment she felt dirt beneath her hooves instead of the hard cobblestone.

It was in comfortable silence that Tommy cracked together flint until the sparks cascaded to the pile of wood Elsie had formed. The light from the rising flames gave a warmth to their complexions that was rarely seen in the greyscale of Small Heath.

The two leaned side by side on their elbows as their stares drifted back and forth from the embers to the stars above them. Elsie hadn’t seen the sky such a shade of natural black in so long, the pitch above the streets being eternally tinted with smoke. Tommy had clearly already resolved to stay out until the dawn, and Elsie couldn’t remember the last time she’d been chosen as his companion. After taking a swig of the half empty Irish whiskey he had snagged, he passed it off to her.

“Your aunt won’t worry about where you got off to?” She asked before she gulped more than she should have.

“Worry, sure,” He said bluntly. “Care enough to say something in the morning? Not at all.”

“She still expects you to look after Finn and Ada?”

“She knows I have other things on my mind.”

“And what are those ‘things’, exactly? Business things?”

He didn’t answer. He had a knack for making any question seem stupid simply by letting it drift off into space.

“Curly will tell me what you’re all up to,” Elsie muttered, more to herself than to him. “He always does.”

“Your brother knows only the things I ask him to do, not why I ask ‘em.”

“He can infer. We all can.”

“ _Infer_ , eh?” He mocked. “Big words from a girl who can’t even read.” He had a knack for avoiding her inquiries by teasing.

Elsie bit her lip to keep from grumbling, and began absentmindedly fiddling with Tommy’s cap that he had cast to the side.

”Fuck!” She sucked in a breath as crimson appeared in a thin line along her middle finger. Tommy looked over and tried not to laugh.

“Ah. You should’ve known better than that, Els,” He chided, gently taking the cap from out of her hands.

“One day, those blades you hide in there will blind the wrong person.” Elsie squeezed her finger so that the blood gushed out in a heavier stream. She sucked on the wound until it began to dry.

“Here,” Tommy reached over and tugged her hand away from her mouth. With a brush of his own hand, he wiped a spot of blood from off her cheek and swiftly pressed his lips to hers.

Elsie pulled away, laughing.

“Thought you said we couldn’t do that anymore,” she raised her eyebrows. “You want to save all your fucking for Greta. Remember?”

Tommy rolled his eyes and leaned back with a sigh.

“Ain’t here, though, is she?” He tried to play nonchalant, but Elsie could sense the hurt that was buried deep below the surface. She put her hand on his cheek and mashed her lips together to keep from giggling.

“Poor Tommy,” She tutted. “His golden princess has left him lonesome, and now he has to settle for a cunt who wears trousers.”

He jerked her hand away, but she thought she caught him smile.

“Come off it,” Tommy sat upright and stared straight into the flames. “Tell me what she told you, yesterday, when she came by. And don’t fucking lie. I can always tell when you lie.”

“She said she couldn’t wait to see you and she was counting the minutes.”

“I said don’t _fucking_ lie.”

“Her parents had an important dinner tonight. She wasn’t sure she would be able to sneak out of their sight,” Elsie dug her heels into the dirt. Greta Jurossi always played the role of perfect daughter, much to her consort’s chagrin.

“Didn’t think to tell me that earlier?” Tommy didn’t take his eyes off the fire.

“Just because I introduced the two of you doesn’t mean I can go on being your carrier pigeon.”

“Aye. Fair enough.”

Elsie filled the next moment of silence with a long chug from the bottle. She never could understand why he preferred Irish, but she wasn’t finicky when it came to alcohol. At least, she never let on. The only time she had tasted champagne was in his company. _Someday_ , he’d said, _I’ll be able to drink champagne every night, if I wish it._

“Arthur’s going to enlist,” He stated suddenly. Elsie choked on her swallow.

“He’s _what?”_

“Polly’s told him to finish school, but the man’s got a thirst. He’s ready. And John’s right on his heels.”

It was hard to imagine the boy who had once come down to the stables every afternoon to sketch horses, covered in another man’s blood in the heat of war. Still, Elsie had seen that boy disappear more rapidly with each passing year. The Shelby’s always grew into their childlike hotheadedness.

Elsie could never kick the habit of looking at Tommy’s face for an inkling as to what he was thinking, but she often hoped if she looked fast enough she would catch him in the act of emoting. Now, though, no such luck. Only the reflection of the fire sat in his watery eyes.

“And you?”

Another of her questions, ignored. Tommy picked a nearby twig and began drawing circles in the dirt by their feet.

“Do you know what I told Greta?” He said. “No, I promised it. I promised her I would change the world. And I think she believed me. So, now I owe the girl. I have to change the world, now.” His words were becoming heavier, as the drink took its toll. Elsie herself felt her eyelids starting to droop, but she continued to watch him carefully with an expression of wariness and awe. His solemn seriousness always triggered a playfulness in her that she couldn’t keep down.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Tom,” she said. “You don’t want to change the world. You want to own it.”

He let out a short, cut laugh and rested his head on her shoulder. Their eyes remained open until the fire died with the night.


	2. Chapter 2

“You’re joking!”

Greta had a voice that tinkled like the bells on a shop door, and her laughter was somehow sweeter. It was no wonder he had fallen so fast and so far, Elsie conceded. Yet, the girl stood out in the streets of Birmingham, like a diamond in the rough; someone who did not truly belong, but whose radiance lit up the grayscale world around her. They had taken many walks like this one before, with her tiptoeing along the canal and Elsie fighting the urge to push her in. She had a great fondness for her, but also a growing weariness at her seeming perfection. Still, it had been a while since she’d had a friend of the same sex. The girls that lived nearby were petty, and a caliber she did not want to associate with. When Greta first moved to town, Elsie had to win her over before anyone else. However, it was another game at which Tommy had beaten her.

“’Course I’m not. Why the hell would I ever learn side-saddle?” Elsie replied, frowning at the giggling Greta was emitting.

“I don’t know,” the girl’s cheeks were flushed with her smile. “I suppose I just always thought it was the proper way for ladies to ride. You’ve really never done it? With all the time you spend with horses?”

“What part of me seems ‘proper’ to you?” 

“Oh, Els, don’t pout!” Greta stopped walking and turned to face her friend. “I’m only messing. I only ride with my thighs these days.”

“Are we still talking about horses?” Elsie ribbed. Greta shot her nasty look, but she could detect the pride in her eyes. Before she could respond, Greta doubled over to let out a grotesque cough. After a moment, she cleared her throat and continued on.

“You alright?” Elsie asked, but Greta had other things on her mind.

“Has Tommy seemed off to you?” She asked suddenly. Elsie shrugged.

“He…seems like Tommy.”

“You heard about dinner with my parents?” Greta went on. “He was finally invited to the house. I thought it went well, mum simply adored him. Kitty even said dad was impressed, but you never can tell. Since that night, though, he hasn’t been himself.”

“Did you feed him some strange Italian dish?” Elsie asked, earning an eye-roll.

“Really,” She said, dragging her feet across the wet cobblestone. “He hasn’t spoken to you?”

“You’ll come to learn he hardly ever says what he’s feeling. And I wouldn’t waste your time guessing, alright?” It was years ago that Elsie had stopped trying to pick the boy’s brain, and it was with modest superiority that she watched other women attempt to glean anything more than she had.

“His brothers don’t like me,” Greta muttered. “Perhaps it’s _me_ that won’t be accepted into _his_ family.”

Elsie tried to contain her scoff, and it was fortunately masked by another cough from Greta.

“You’re mad,” She said plainly. “The Shelbys might be rich in name, but they’re hardly worth the shoes on your feet.”

“Money’s got nothing to do with it.”

“So what--?”

“Is that your brother?”

Greta was squinting in the distance. Sure enough, through the fog came a bounding figure along the water’s edge, running at a pace that didn’t quite suit his build. The frantic on his permanently surprised face was evident the moment he came into view.

“Oi, Curly!” Elsie called as they drew nearer to one another. “Where’s the fire?”

Curly panted before them for a solid few seconds.

“The Flea—burnt to a crisp---thought you—had to find—“ Curly sputtered and struggled to get the words out. Greta looked baffled, but Elsie was able to translate for her brother.

“That pub by the docks? You mean it’s _actually_ on fire?”

Curly nodded and gasped.

“Thought you—you go there—weren’t sure you were—Tommy said to check here—got worried!”

Elsie took her brother’s hands.

“Shh, Curly, I’m alright. I don’t go there anymore. Look at me. I’m here,” She whispered. “Tell me what’s happened.”

But the man was done talking for a bit as he shook his head and patted his sister’s hands. He tried to give her a smile but it faltered on his sweaty face.

“You’re alright,” He repeated. “Better go back, then. Tommy needed help.”

At the sound of his name, Greta perked up.

“We’ll all go,” She said firmly. Curly shook his head so fast his cap almost fell off.

“’S’nothing young ladies ought to see,” He said, already backing up a few paces. Elsie rolled her eyes grabbed hold of Greta, their minds already made up.

She could see the smoke before the singed rubble and red embers, a sight not uncommon for those who lived near the factories. Having seen so much fire in her lifetime, though, made it easy to determine whether a flame was malicious or productive. Elsie caught Greta’s nose wrinkle as they drew nearer to where _The Flea_ once stood, a quaint but faithful bar on the waterfront. She felt a quiet blessing for her lack of scent, sure that her friend was inhaling burnt flesh and ash. Indeed, the sight was dismal. A crowd had gathered around the falling structure, brave few venturing into the wreckage to salvage anything of value. It had been erect only hours ago, but the hungry flame had left nothing but a crispy outline of the building.

What she couldn’t smell, Elsie could see and hear. The faces in the huddled pack were more curious than frightened, straining over one another to get a better look at the damage. Shouts of men over creaking wood made for a cacophony of panic. She spotted Charlie, kicking a piece of paneling as he surveyed the scene with a scowl. Officers were doing no more than holding back the small ensemble of onlookers, and occasionally dodging falling flaming chunks of roofing.

“You shouldn’t have come ‘ere,” A low voice said behind them. “The Pub’s still coming down, see. Not safe.”

Elsie didn’t bother turning, but Greta spun around so fast her hair flicked in Elsie’s eye.

“Tom!” Greta exclaimed. “Is everyone alright? What on earth happened?”

“Never mind about all that,” Tommy had soot under his eyes, making him resemble a raccoon. “I don’t want you breathing in that shit, you’re already unwell.”

“Fuck, Tommy,” Elsie couldn’t take her gaze off of the husk. “I mean…fuck.” She met his eyes only for an instant, and found something she knew well in the man: Guilt. He looked away at once and put his arm around Greta.

“Come,” He said, only to her. “I’ll walk you home.” She didn’t argue, just looked fretfully between Elsie and Tom, eventually allowing him to lead her away from the distress. Elsie remained at the sight, pushing through the crowd with Curly on her tail.

“Curly,” Charlie called. “We need more buckets. Take your sister and fetch ‘em from the stables.”

“I don’t understand,” said Elsie when they were close enough. “Who did this?”

“Was an accident,” growled Charlie.

“Then why are _you_ cleaning it up?”

“Shut up and get some fucking buckets.”

She did as she was told, but only after Curly tugged at her sleeve more and more persistently as she attempted to stare Charlie down. As they hurried away, Elsie caught a glimpse of the two eldest Shelby brothers, standing with their hands in their pockets and cigarettes in their mouths. They looked no more or less than troubled, and she wondered when they’d last had a drink at _The Flea_. As far as she knew, no one frequented it anymore except for the few Irish dockworkers. One thing was for sure—the mess was no accident.

Arson was not uncommon in the turf, but it was certainly dramatic. It was always done as a warning, to alert onlookers that the same could happen to them if they weren’t careful. Smaller injustices were handled more discretely, behind closed doors or in dark alleys. But a fire meant a temper had been raised that shouldn’t have been.

As she released the flow of water from her bucket over a smoldering door, Elsie felt the steam fill her lungs and realized she could hardly be bothered by the explosive anger of men. As long as it never came for her, the wrath of the Peaky Blinders was just a trivial inconvenience.

When dusk came and she could no longer stand to stare at the skeleton of the pub or listen to the wails of wives with the bad news, Elsie found her way back to the stables.

Tommy was already there, either to seek her company or to be alone she was not sure. He was in the stall with Loosefire, clicking his tongue gently and rubbing the beast’s nose.

“Greta took to bed,” He explained at the sound of her footsteps. “It was a trying day.”

“For you more than her,” Elsie kicked hay off her boots and hopped up on a barrel. “The fuck happened?”

“Me dad picked a fight with the wrong fucking people and I had to cover his ass. What else is new?” Tommy still faced the horse like he was talking to it and not Elsie.

“That ain’t the answer I’m looking for.”

“It’s the one you’re gettin’,” He said, whipping out cigarette case and a lighter with great ease, like they were extensions of his body. “Since when do you ask all these questions, anyway? You used to know better.”

“Only since you stopped telling me things.”

“Greta never asks, Freddie never asks, Curly never…You can’t just let it be, can you?” Even with the cigarette perched on his lip, his tone was sinking into darker territory. He did, however, remember to offer her one this time. She took it gratefully, and allowed him to light it. In lieu of a response, she took a long drag and let the smoke furl out her nostrils and into his shadowed face. She could see where it stung his eyes, but he did not blink. He just watched her for a moment, before returning his attention to the horse.

“She’s doing well, isn’t she?” He almost cooed as he scratched Loosefire’s twitching ear.

“Ain’t burying her yet, that’s for sure,” agreed Elsie, annoyed at the change in topic.

“Would’ve been a shame. Don’t know where she would’ve fit, anyway, the yard’s all but horse bone these days.”

“I would’ve done it by where your little white pony lies. By the tree your mum liked.”

Tommy froze what little motion he’d been carrying out. In a voice as sharp as ice he murmured, “Now you’re just trying to get a rise out of me, eh?”

Elsie just puffed another cloud towards the back of his head and looked as undisturbed as ever. It wasn’t being barred from the inside of his head that frustrated her— she was accustomed to that. It was the mere fact that his trust in her had been displaced over time. With the more information withheld, the nosier she had to grow as a result. She didn’t like being nosy, but she did what she had to do.

“Even your girl says you’ve been off lately,” Elsie said after a long silence.

“Ah,” He turned around once more and she was surprised to find a slight smile fill his lips. “That.”

A quick hand to his pockets gave Elsie’s heart a small hiccup, after having seen Tommy pull pistols from his coat with similar speed. However, it was no weapon he had manifested. It was a small black box that fit squarely in the palm of his hand. A container so miniscule could only hold one thing, and Elsie almost gasped in a girlish fluster at the sight of it.

“Well, shit, Tommy!” She breathed. “You’re proposing? Already?”

“Nothing’s too soon in my mind,” He mumbled, the smile wearing off just slightly. “Besides, a soldier’s wife will be taken care of. Think she’ll say yes?”

“A hundred times over,” Elsie couldn’t explain the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She didn’t ask to see it, but he popped open the top to show off the elegant ring he had chosen. It suited Greta and all her glory. “How much blood went into the money you used to buy that thing?”

His sigh was somewhere between a scoff and a disgusted huff.

“You’re lucky I like you,” was all he could say.

“Am I? Still shoveling shit for you, ain’t I?” It earned her a small laugh, enough to ease his shoulders. “Guess you’re all grown up, now. Marriage. War. No time for me.”

“Somehow I always find time for you, eh?”

“Seems a pity to volunteer right after getting married,” Elsie said in a quiet voice. Tommy leaned back against the stall door, allowing his eyes to meet hers but revealing nothing.

“No,” He said. “I need a break from this life here. It’s a good excuse to serve my country, and I’ll have a good wife waiting for me when I return.”

“So you’re going to war on holiday?” Elsie smirked.

Tommy smiled again as he lit his second cigarette.

“Can’t be much more fucked than Birmingham.”


	3. Chapter 3

They wouldn’t let Elsie see her. A grubby stablehand would more than jeopardize the effects of any quarantine they were imprisoning Greta with. She waited outside her house and watched the traffic of doctors, family, and, of course, Tommy parade in and out the well-greased front door. Somehow the gangster had finagled his way to the girl’s bedside. Whether it was favoritism or if he simply hadn’t taken ‘no’ for an answer, the result was the same. He was permitted to spend every afternoon clutching Greta’s frail hand until he was promptly removed come nightfall. And Elsie would be waiting, like a cat on the stoop. Days of this routine were wearing her patience, but the hope that she might see her friend for herself instead of enduring the pitying whispers about town was well worth the tribulation.

It had been two weeks since Greta had first been bedridden. It was only newsworthy because of the sudden influx of foreign doctors her father was able to afford. Every one of them that walked up and down the steps to their home looked at Elsie like she was an urchin, and pretended not to speak English when tossed any prying questions.

At dusk, she heard the front door open and looked up expecting to see Tommy popping his collar and fixing his cap. However, it was Greta’s sister, Kitty, who had stepped out for some air and a smoke.

“You’re still here?” She asked, leaning against the railing. “You can’t go in, you know.”

“I _know_ ,” Elsie fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Believe me, I know.”

“Waiting for Tom, then?”

“Sure. Yeah.” There was an awkward pause. Kitty was harder to get along with than her sister. “Any change?”

“Fever’s gone down, they say.”

“That’s good.”

“She still looks like death.”

“Oh.”

More silence followed, and Elsie allowed the girl to finish her cigarette in piece. Just before she returned in doors, Elsie swung to her feet.

“Oi, Kitty, wait!” She called. “Can you—er, can you give her something for me?” Kitty looked surprised, but amused as Elsie pulled out a grubby envelope.

“Not sure she’d be able to write you back,” But she took the parchment.

“S’alright. It’s something to read, I suppose.”

Kitty forced a smile and nodded before disappearing with the letter behind the door. The image of that closed door was practically etched in Elsie’s mind. She’d spent the evening tracking Tommy down and forcing him to write out a preconceived messaged, one she hoped she’d be able to deliver with her own hands. They’d stood at his desk, with her looming at his shoulder and only recognizing the small words he put down. When it was finished, he had read it back to her in his low and calculating voice.

“ _Dear Greta. I’m sure that even ill you still look pretty. Maybe prettier, since you haven’t had to face the soot and shit from the streets in some time. I hope they’ve told you that even though I’ve been banned from your presence, I’m usually right outside your window. I’m never far if you suddenly have the energy to stand up and shout down at me. Your mother has told me all I can do is pray for you, so I’ve taken up the practice. Is it helping? I miss your companionship.”_

Tommy read it over again in his head, even after the words had left his sunken lips. He looked up at Elsie, his eyes brighter than they had been in days, but not reflecting the wan look on the rest of his face. It had occurred to Elsie that with so much of his time spent in a sick room he was more likely to contract whatever ailed his love. When caught alone sometimes, she would inadvertently put a hand to his forehead to test for fever, but he would swat her away with a callous look. She didn’t try to touch him, then, just waited for his thoughts.

“How the fuck,” he slid the parchment into an envelope and reached for the dying candle on his desk. “D’you know so many fancy words? Let alone where to fucking put them in a sentence.”

“I _listen_ ,” Elsie said coolly. She watched him pour a drop of hot wax to seal her words.

“You were only in a few rich houses as a child, no?”

“They all used big words like a secret language around me ‘n Curly,” She replied. “You would’ve paid more attention, too. If you’d been a servant.”

“Maybe.”

Frustrated, Elsie snatched the letter from him and sat down on the bed.

“So? Is it good?” She asked.

He looked at her, almost entertained by her impatience. He enjoyed his long pauses, but especially when he knew she was waiting with bated breath for him to speak. A cigarette on his lip gave way to his words.

“Wish you could write,” He leaned back in his chair and put one foot against the bed frame near her legs. “I’d want someone sending me letters like these while I’m on the battlefield.”

“That’s what your future wife is for.”

The air became stiff and stoic once more. Tommy put both his feet down and turns his back on her, cupping the ashtray on his desk with both hands.

“Tom? She’ll get through this, you know,” Elsie swallowed. No response. “Have you proposed yet?”

“Can’t seem to find the right time,” He said with a black laugh. Elsie bit down on her lip and said the one thing she knew he didn’t want to hear.

“It’s going to be alright.”

Tommy’s stare sank up to the ceiling, the smoke making his eyes water ever so slightly.

“She’s all I have left, Els.”

Elsie felt tears burn her own eyes, and then rage that they were not for Greta.

“I know.”

Now, as she sat outside of a building that contained two of the people she loved most in the world, she imagined that the setting sun was lighting the fire at the end of her cigarette and told herself that by the time it ran out, either Greta or Tommy would walk out that shut door.

 _“It’s a long way, to Tipperary…”_ She sung quietly to herself, flicking ash off her shoe. “ _And the sweetest girl I know.”_

It was just then that Tommy finally emerged with his coat halfway on and a look of contempt for no one in particular. He stomped down the steps without a sideways glance to Elsie, but only because he knew she’d be right on his tail.

“Fancy a drink?” He mumbled, his long legs taking him quickly away from the house. Elsie had to almost trot to keep up. “Or have you already had one? You only sing when you’re drunk.”

“Or when I’m bored. How is she?”

His hat was so low that the shadows hid his expression.

“Was reading your letter when I left,” He said.

“That didn’t answer my question,” Elsie let her command dangle in the air, but when he didn’t bite she sighed. “Did she like it?”

“’Course she did,” He almost scoffed. “She thinks the world of you.” A rock in his path received the hard heel of his boot. “I don’t think I can stand the pubs tonight. We’ll find whatever Polly’s got stashed in the house.”

He had sought Elsie’s company (or, had been quicker to accept it) far more frequently since Greta’s downfall. She couldn’t surmise if it was out of loneliness, or perhaps his girlfriend’s illness had given him reason to detach from the family business. As his role in the so called “company” had grown, his time with Elsie had evaporated to only brief encounters or under the guise of a professional meeting—which typically meant he needed her assistance to rig a horse. Whatever it was that had sparked his change of heart, she did her best not to tamper with it. She had missed her friend. She had missed having any friend. But she’d never let on.

Soon the two were rummaging through the cabinets of the Shelby kitchen, both remembering similar moments in their youth but daring not to reminisce aloud.

A flicker of light froze them in the compromising position of arms full of bottles and tumblers. A women with buoyant curls and a long nightgown had just entered with a candle.

“You’re home early,” She said coolly, setting the candle down on the table and herself in a chair. “Your father was looking for you.”

“Yeah?” Tommy asked, adjusting his hands to better cradle his glassware. “Well, you can tell ‘im to fuck off.”

“Already did. How was she today?” She was quick to ask the questions he had to respond to before he could escape out the room.

“Hell, Pol,” Tommy blew a puff of air out his pursed lips. “Don’t act like you suddenly care about her just because she’s dying.”

Elsie felt her stomach lurch at the word. She opened her mouth to scold him for speaking, but Aunt Polly was quicker, as usual.

“I understand the pain you must be feeling, really I do,” Polly said, her fingers visibly twitching against the urge to turn into fists. “But you can’t go on like this. Spending your days with her and your nights wallowing. We need you to come _back_. Arthur can’t handle the—“

“Mind what you say in present company,” Tommy shot out through gritted teeth.

“Oh, please, Elsie’s no idiot! She’s been with us long enough,” she raised her voice, but did not look at Elsie. “Your emotions are getting the better of you, Tommy, and it’s my job to make sure you don’t make any stupid decisions.”

“I don’t recall hiring you for that position,” He pulled a cork out of the bottle in his right arm with his teeth and spat it out on the floor. “G’night, Pol.” Elsie was slow to follow him out of the room, watching Polly for any indication that she would acknowledge her presence with more than words. As she started after Tommy, Polly finally caught her eye.

“Don’t make too much noise, I just put Finn down,” She muttered, fumbling with her silver cigarette case.

All Elsie could do was nod and scurry away like a frightened mouse. As one of very few women who worked within the vicinity of the Shelby’s, she always sensed that Polly tolerated and respected her, not did not like her. The feeling was, fortunately, mutual.

She padded up the stairs to Tommy’s small room, laying down the two glasses and bottle of rye she’d carried on his cramped desk. He was already leaning against his wrought iron bedpost and removing his shoes, a cigarette in his mouth once more.

“The fuck was that?” She asked after shutting the door behind her. Tommy raised his eyebrows, took a swig, and gestured airily towards the wall with his smoking hand.

“You know my aunt,” He mumbled. He reached for the glasses in Elsie’s hand. “Let me pour you one proper.”

“I mean what you said ‘bout Greta,” Elsie felt frozen by her tenseness, but she allowed her host to serve her. The man was nothing if not cordial. “You really think she’s dying.”

He used his pause to fill and down his cup, then looked at her with glassy eyes.

“You don’t?”

She leaned against the wall, afraid to step any closer to him and see his face fully in the candlelight.

“She’s being treated,” She said slowly. “And she’s lasted this long.”

“People live for months with consumption. They always meet the same fate, don’t they?”

Elsie didn’t know where her anger was coming from. Perhaps it was that to see Tommy distraught was one of the most pathetic things in the world to her. Perhaps it was his resolve to look cynically on all hope.

“Sounds like you’re challenging me,” She said, her impression of him hardly landing.

“What?” Tommy looked up at her from his glass.

“A shilling says you’ll marry and grow old together. That she’ll live to be the mother of your children.”

He shook his head and Elsie thought she saw him swallow hard.

“Shut up,” was all he could muster.

“Do you wager?” She pressed on, edging closer to his perch on the bed. “What’s the matter? I thought you enjoyed betting on lives.”

“I said SHUT UP!” Tommy stormed to his feet and grabbed Elsie by the chin to keep her mouth closed. Now that they were inches apart, she could see his tears welling, ones that he refused to let spill over. Elsie’s heart raced as he panted for composure. She had never been the object of Tommy’s fury before. It was frightening. They stood like that for a moment, as though he was deciding whether or not to strike her. When at last he dropped his grasp, he stumbled back to the bed. Instead of retreating, Elsie immediately bent down and put both her hands on his knees.

“Fuck you,” He spat, forgoing his glass and returning to the bottle. But he let her keep her hands on him.

“Tommy,” Elsie whispered. “I’m sorry, I—“

“You speak like I’m willing this upon her,” He said breathily. “Like I don’t want the girl I love to be alright. She’s everything. And I’m going to lose her.” He buried his face in his hands.

 _Everything_. It stung, his words, and she could not pin down why. At once, she was hit with a memory of holding his hand in the street as teenagers. It had only been for a moment. A moment that had meant everything to her. Now, she cupped his cradled hands in hers and spoke with the sharp kindness of a teacher.

“You don’t know that. Even you, Thomas Shelby, don’t know everything about the world. And even less about the future,” She pressed her forehead to the top of his hair. “So stop acting like it.”

He emerged from his hidden posture, only traces of red around his eyes to indicate emotion. His gaze flickered from Elsie to the array of booze on the desk. As if to accept her apology, he gave her hand a light squeeze.

“You’re clearly not drunk enough, yet,” He reached over to pour her more of the amber liquid. “Otherwise you’d be singing racing songs to try and cheer me.”

She accepted somewhat begrudgingly, taking it all in one gulp and leaning her back against the bed by his legs. He chuckled ever so slightly at how audible her swallow is and copied her.

“You always take your drink like a man, don’t you?” He said raspily, his throat still burning from trying to chug as much as she had in a single go.

“Most men can’t drink as quickly as I can.” Elsie was grateful for the quick change in topic, even if she desperately wanted to pry Tommy apart. He was, as usual, a master of distraction.

“Ah,” He scooted all the way onto the bed and put his hands behind his head. “Your broken nose, right?”

“Taste has never been sharp to me,” She said, tracing her finger around the glass. “I can hold a bitter drink in my mouth for as long as I please and I still won’t feel it burn.”

“I remember,” Tommy looked up at the ceiling. “You won contests at the pubs. Got us barred from a few.”

“No one’s barring you from anywhere anymore, hm? You walk through the streets like a prince.”

His mouth twitched.

“Not just yet I don’t.” He dabbed his cigarette against the wall, leaving a tiny ash mark on the paint. They simultaneously finished another drinksworth, sufficiently feeling the effects of the alcohol. “You’re missing a whole other world, not being able to smell. Fire, when it’s cooking meat. Grass after it rains. People.”

“People can smell good?” Elsie raised her eyebrow, thinking he was joking.

“They have their own perfumes. Greta’s hair is always like strawberry, no matter when she bathed,” His smile was wry and secretive. “John always smells of dirt.”

“And me? What’s my scent?” She almost whispered.

He tilted his head to look down at her, still curled on the floor by the foot of his bed. Tommy’s eyes lit, almost as though he was just realizing she was actually there.

“Come here,” He ordered. She didn’t move, at first, calling his bluff.

“You can’t remember?” She smiled. “Tell me. I can take it. I smell of horses and shit, don’t I?”

“I said come here.”

Elsie carefully lifted herself onto the bed. Tommy leaned forward and took her gently by the wrist. He pressed the bridge of his nose into her bare skin and delicately ran it up along her arm until his eyes were level to hers and as close as they could be without touching.

“Like a daisy. Not strong, but sweet and faded. The only flower I recognize by smell because it was the first I learned. Leaves a faint burning in the nostrils if you inhale too long,” He spoke so quietly he was almost only mouthing the words. “I remember.”

She closed the gap. She couldn’t help it. Though she’d kissed him first, she was also the first to break apart, his hands already tangled in her hair.

“I’m sorry—“ She started.

“Don’t,” there was a tiredness welling in his voice. “Please. Let me have you tonight. I want you.”

Elsie could not argue. She never could. She never wanted to. She let him build his ferocity and take out all his anguish on her body, only because he allowed her to do the same. It was like she was fifteen again. And it was like he had never fallen in love.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn’t because of the constant rain that Elsie shelved herself away in the stables for the following few days, far from eyes of any kind. She knew he would not seek her out, not until at least some time had healed his regret. The morning after, she had left before he woke, her body timed to rise with the dawn. She’d watched Tommy’s chest rise and fall raggedly, somehow looking in his sleep more like the boy she used to know, his eyelids quivering with gentle excitement. And though she wanted to, she did not stir him. She hadn’t seen him since.

The lumber from the wreckage at The Flea had provided a solid start to a barn addition, a new tack room for the growing collection of fine bridles and saddles that the Shelby’s were suddenly able to acquire. It had been Curly’s and Charlie’s side project, though their construction took place in the nighttime after a shared pint, and the location was unideally near enough to Elsie’s room that it accounted for a number of sleepless nights. Or at least, it was the easier source to blame for her exhaustion.

She was resting her head on a bale of hay in Loosefire’s stall, too tired to even shift a strand of straw from out of her nostril, when two sets of heavy footsteps clomped in.

“Oi. Wake up.”

Elsie sat up before her eyes opened, the blood rushing down from her head making the world spin. When she saw who her visitors were, standing in long dark coats like looming clouds by the stall door, she hopped right to her feet.

“Sleeping on the job, eh?” but Arthur Shelby wore a twisted smirk.

“And drinking,” John, beside him, chuckled while he kicked an empty gin bottle with his heel. It clanked musically across the cobblestone before Elsie snatched it up to keep the glass far from the horse.

“Not entirely ladylike, is it?” the eldest brother got in one more stab before Elsie stepped out and shut the stall door to meet them properly. Even though she’d known them since they were young, as men they had become tougher to stomach. She didn’t fear them exactly, but she didn’t want to spend longer than she had to alone with either of them. There was anger there, not unlike Tommy’s, but with much shorter fuses.

“Well, if you’d wanted me to be ladylike, you should’ve hired me for a whore.” Elsie picked the hay from her hair and smiled at the brothers.

“Got a fucking mouth like one, that’s for sure, Els,” John laughed and removed his hat to run a dirty hand through his blonde hair. “You’re looking well. Was it this stall here that Ada and I used to come shoot rats?”

“Couple doors down. And scare the living shit out of the horses.”

The men laughed almost in harmony.

“They was just kids,” Arthur reminisced affectionately. “Weren’t much to do around here, was there? You remember…”

Elsie did remember. The stables had been almost a safe haven for the children, the smell of dust and dung far more innocent than that of fire and blood. They had played together. But the Shelby’s idea of play was not always in line with hers, and more often did it involve waving pistols and dunking rodents in water troughs the older they all got. There were calmer memories, though. Tommy reading to her while Arthur drew in charcoal. Ada toddling behind the legs of horses until her mother spotted and scooped her up. John lazily picking clusters of grass that grew in between the rocks. That was a lifetime ago.

“If you’re looking for Curly, he’s in the yard,” Elsie said stiffly.

“No, we’re here for you,” replied Arthur. “You wouldn’t know where Tommy was, would you?”

She didn’t know why her heart iced over at the sound of his name.

“Probably at the Jurossi’s home. Where he always is.”

“They said he left after a short visit this morning. We thought he might be with you.”

Her face grew hot. She looked between the two, daring them to insinuate any further, but they looked simply tired and almost…desperate. They didn’t care who Tommy spent his time with. They didn’t care about his heart. There were far more important things. They only needed his head, and it was clear they were beginning to wonder if it was even screwed on properly.

“Guess you thought wrong,” Was all she could say.

“Aye,” Arthur was already beginning to back away. “Well, if you see ‘im.”

“He’ll turn up,” Elsie said, as though he were a lost dog that wandered to and fro.

“Sure he will,” John almost laughed under his breath. “Just not when we fucking need him, eh, Arthur? Fuck…”

They turned their backs to her without a goodbye and started off. Their long coats kicked up the dust around their ankles, resembling racing horses in dirt as they walked. Elsie watched, almost entranced, until a whinny broke her focus and brought her back to her tasks.

It was only after she’d filled the water and feed for each horse that she found one stall was empty. Whoever had taken the stallion must have been out all morning to escape her notice, but, then again, she’d been distracted. Her question was answered as she started lazily back towards where she knew her bed was waiting for her, despite it being barely sundown. Her path was crossed by none other than her brother, leading a sleek black and limping beast. At once she knew there was something wrong. The horse’s breathing was accompanied by painful snorts with each exhale, and his eyes, that usually told so much, were beginning to look like glass. Curly’s face was sprinkled with ash, pasted down with sweat in such a way that it resembled crunched tea leaves against a white cup. He didn’t see her until she had run right to his side. Somehow, he could always find the strength to force a smile for her.

“There you are,” He said with a sniff and a grin. “Missed you at lunchtime. Are you eating?”

She ignored the question.

“What’s wrong with him?” Elsie jerked her head to the horse while she watched her brother’s smile slide away.

“Accident down at the quarry,” Curly was good at not sugar-coating his stories, but it was never without hesitation. “Some rocks fell on ‘im while we was working. Cracked ribs. Charlie’s already dug up a place in the meadow, I’m bringing him there now.” A glint of light drew Elsie’s eyes to the handle of a gun in his pocket.

She folded her lips together and held out her hand.

“I’ll do it, Curly,” she said, but he was already shaking his head.

“No, no, I’ve said I would—“

“You’re exhausted. To end your day like this instead of with a hot bath seems a shame. Besides,” She added. “He trusts me.”

It was true, the horse had steadied somewhat since she had placed her hand on his shivering neck. Elsie was never sure if her bond with the creatures was emotional, but she was the hand that fed them and that meant something. Curly looked entirely unconvinced. However, his eyes had moved beyond Elsie to something just beyond her shoulder. She felt his presence before he reached them, like a shadow that had not quite caught up.

“We’ll take it from here,” Tommy’s outstretched hand was far more commanding than Elsie’s. “Give me the gun, Curly.”

“Sure, Tom,” Curly sounded resigned. He always did what he was told when the orders came from Tommy, loyally and without question. He looked between the two of them. “Y-you’ll walk my sister home, after?”

“Promise.”

Curly looked like he wanted to say more. Perhaps he would’ve tried to convince Elsie to stay out of it, to not have to witness such a brutal thing. Yet Tommy had spoken, and she was his chosen company. He handed Elsie the reins and gave a final pat to the horse.

“You was a good one,” He whispered before they began to walk off towards the waiting grave. Elsie knew he was watching them depart, and felt a sudden pang of guilt for having missed lunch.

She and Tommy walked in silence for a few long strides, each listening to the irregular clopping of hooves that separated them. The glances she stole at him yielded a face that was pale as a sheet that emboldened the dark circles under his eyes. When he played the quiet game, Elsie was always the first to lose.

“Your brothers came ‘round here, looking for you,” She said on a sigh.

“Didn’t look very hard, then, did they?”

“They seemed worried.”

Tommy twisted the gun around in his hands and stuffed it in his coat pocket. He still wouldn’t look at her.

“They don’t think I’ve got a handle on things. I do,” He said flatly.

“And what things are those?”

He pursed his lips and let out a long gust of air in lieu of an answer. As though for the first time, he took a look at the stallion walking between them.

“What’s this one’s name, again?” He said softly, looking in admiration at the great horse.

“Obsidian,” Elsie said. “Don’t change the subject.”

“Obsidian,” Tommy repeated. “Bit of a scary name.”

“He was a bit of a scary horse.”

“No need to say ‘was’. Not dead yet.”

They walked further onto ground that became soft and green, further from the hideous noises of Birmingham the horse had been forced to spend its life surrounded by. When Tommy spoke again, it was kinder, as though the cleaner air had bewitched him.

“My brothers…” He sighed. “Are not men of logic. Or patience. They don’t understand what I don’t spell out for them. But I’ve got me own problems right now, and they aren’t used to being left out.”

“Left out of what?” His stern deafness was enough of an answer. Elsie looked straight ahead. “Your family relies on you. It doesn’t seem a fair burden.”

“I can’t hardly call it a burden, seeing how I chose this path. Ain’t their fault none of ‘em have as much a mind for business as I do. But I’ll run things my way and they can like it or not.”

“You’ll be off, soon. You and your brothers. Fighting,” Elsie said slowly, each word feeling heavier. “What will it matter, then?”

Elsie thought she saw him reach for his cigarette case, then think better of it.

“It’ll all matter,” Tommy replied with a creaked, sad smile. “Because what if I come back?”

In the distance, a lantern’s light outlined a hunched figure standing beside a mound, the sky backdrop becoming increasingly dimmer the closer they got. Charlie was waiting for them, his spade stuck in the soft dirt pile like a flag on new territory. His surprise at the present company was brief when they fully arrived, and it was replaced immediately with his typical sour expression and a courteous nod to his nephew.

“Tom,” He said, with only a side glance on Elsie’s behalf. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here, Curly and I would’ve—“

“I needed the walk. And you need the rest,” Tommy put his hand on the wood of the shovel. “If you see Arthur…or John…tell ‘em we’ll meet at the Garrison tonight.”

Charlie nodded and adjusted his cap. Finally, his attention turned to Elsie.

“Come on,” he said to her. “I’ll take ye back.” She remained rooted to the spot.

“I’ll stay, thanks,” She said quietly. He looked between her and Tommy, as if expecting him to argue, but when he said nothing, Charlie took his leave without another word.

Then, it was just the three of them. The man with too much responsibility, the girl with none at all, and the horse slated to die. Elsie stood so still that she barely felt Tommy slide the matted lead from her hands until she realized he had begun aligning Obsidian just right beside the massive hollow at their feet. The animal was starting to shake fiercer than before. Elsie ran her knuckled methodically up and down his neck, whispering what she hoped were soothing noises.

“She wants to see you.” He said it so suddenly that Elsie gathered he’d been waiting for an opportune moment. “Greta’s asked. They’ll let you visit. You could even go tonight, if you’d like. You should.”

The next shudder that disrupted the air was hers. Elsie would finally get to see her friend, and of course the permission had been given just when she thought she couldn’t bear to face her.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me sooner?” Elsie asked, knowing it had been morning since last Tommy was at her bedside. He shrugged uncharacteristically.

“I don’t need to ask, eh?” He muttered. “You won’t tell her.”

“…No.”

Tommy shook his black hair from his eyes and inhaled.

“Right, then,” He drew the pistol, but did not aim. “Go to her. Now. And let me do this.”

“Another thing to ‘handle’ on your own, is it?” Elsie did not hide her frustration. “Not a chance. He was in my care, and he will be ‘til the end.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Fine,” he said coolly. Without warning, he thrust the gun towards her. “Since you’re so willing.”

Elsie tried not to tremble as she stubbornly gripped the pistol in both hands. She was almost waiting for him to stop her as she raised the barrel up to the head of the horse.

“He makes it easy for you, this one,” Tommy was saying, though he suddenly sounded far away in Elsie’s ears. “Point it at the white diamond. Like a target, right between his eyes.”

The metal was cold but sweat was pooling in her palms.

“Do it,” whispered Tommy. “He’s hurting.”

Elsie cocked the gun just as her eyes closed. In the next moment, she felt it wrenched from her hands and Tommy breathing at her neck.

“You can’t do it fucking blind Els.” He was angry, and she didn’t know why. “You _look_ at where you’re shooting. And while you pretend to have the stomach to kill, he remains suffering. You’ve never been able to put them down. You’ve never been the one to carry out that kindness for them. The one job you couldn’t do, that you ran crying to your brother for. You’re scared and you’ve always _been_ fucking scared. So don’t you dare start acting like you want that blood on your hands now.”

“And you _do_?” Elsie retorted, tears in her eyes.

Tommy re-aimed and sucked in a breath.

“Don’t ever try to do me any favors.”

His finger was cradling the trigger when Elsie called out, “Wait!” He paused, but did not lower his arm or even look at her.

“Can…can we say some words, first?” She asked. She knew she was stalling, but she had found a voice she hoped would entice Tommy into believing it was a good idea.

“Words,” Tommy pondered. “Sure. What have you got?”

Elsie thought for a moment.

“Fuck, I…don’t actually know any prayers. You?”

He shook his head.

“I suppose any words will do, eh? Not like he’ll understand. Something comforting. Any Romani?”

“None of the bits I know seem right… _Gula Devla, da me saschipo…_ ”

She heard his laugh and it eased her.

“No, definitely not that one,” He said. “Just…what words do you remember that made you feel safe?”

Elsie looked in the black eyes of the blacker horse in front of her and saw her own reflection, cast by the flow from the lantern.

“Alright, I’ve got one. I don’t really remember all of it. It’s a poem Greta read to me from one of her periodicals. ‘A Christmas Carol’, I think it was.”

“I know the one,” Tommy said. “She always liked it. Says it sounds hopeful. Give it a go.”

“Right…”

The two stood shoulder to shoulder. Tommy had the gun raised in his outer hand, and Elsie could feel the fingers nearest to hers twitch ever so slightly. She sucked in the brisk air as night closed in around them.

“’In the bleak mid-winter, frosty wind made moan…er, Earth stood hard as iron. Water like a stone. Snow…something…something…In the bleak mid-winter, long ago.”

She opened the eyes she didn’t know she had squeezed shut, as though it would help her memory. Tommy was looking at her, and she couldn’t tell it he was amused or moved by the recitation.

“Ready?” He asked her softly, though Elsie knew he was preparing himself just as much. She took hold of his hand, and as if her touch had been the trigger, the gun went off in the same instant. _BANG._

* * *

_BANG. BANG. BANG._ Elsie had to knock on the Jurossi’s door for minutes before she heard movement on the stairs within. She was expecting anyone but Greta’s father to be the one to greet her—they were a family with a butler, after all—but Mr. Jurossi swung the door open with such force that Elsie nearly fell inwards. He looked upon her first with calculated caution, then, relief.

“You’ve come to call on my daughter before,” He said, stepping to the side and allowing Elsie to step inside. “I must apologize. We’ve had to be careful, given her condition. But she has requested your company for some time and there’s only so many times you can tell that girl ‘no’.” The man had a knack for walking and talking, and Elsie suddenly found herself led to the drawing room. There was velvet furniture and gaudy wallpaper, everything that was to be anticipated in a rich Italian home. It didn’t stop her eyes from widening at the sight of such fineries. Polished tea sets and photographs in golden frames lined the surfaces. The rug under her feet felt like moss that she sank into.

“You’ll have to change, of course,” Mr. Jurossi was still speaking. “My wife has laid out some of Greta’s old clothing that should fit.”

Elsie wondered if his desire for a different attire had more to do with his own taste than Greta’s safety. As it was, she was covered in dirt from her day in the stables, but if she’d arrived in a bodice and dress there was every possibility she’d be let up as easily as Tommy had, in his waistcoats and shiny pocket watch. No, Elsie stood out like a sore thumb. Her indignation was kept buried, however, for fear that she would lose her invitation.

“Thank you,” she said, taking the clothes from their perch on the back of an armchair.

Mr. Jurossi looked uncomfortable. It was clear he wasn’t accustomed to entertaining riff raff.

“You can dress beyond that screen, there,” He gestured to an ornate room divider in the corner. “After, you can head right upstairs. Her sister is with her now, third door on the left. Someone will retrieve you when it’s time to leave.”

And with that, he retreated from the room. The dress was itchy and tight, but Elsie put it on and went to the foot of the stairs. She looked up, each step seeming like a peak on a mountain she couldn’t scale. Before she could lift a toe, a figure moved behind her.

“Oh!” Elsie’s head whipped around to take in a petite blonde woman with rosy cheeks who could be none other than Greta’s mother.

“I am sorry, my dear,” Mrs. Jurossi said, her accent as light and hidden as her perfume. “I did not mean to frighten you. I did not know you were already here. A pleasure to meet you. She speaks highly of you, you know. Elsie, was it? Short for Elizabeth, no doubt?”

The woman spoke so fast it took her a moment to register.

“N-no,” Elsie said. “Just Elsie.”

“And your family name?”

“Haven’t got one.”

Mrs. Jurossi cocked her head to one side.

“A family? Or a name, dear?”

Elsie just smiled.

“Your home is lovely,” she told the lady. “May I go and see her now?”

She could feel the regal woman’s eyes on her back as she ascended the stairs, surveilling her instincts to ensure the street rat wouldn’t attempt to steal anything of value. Elsie ran her fingers along the wooden banister, and she could almost picture Mrs. Jurossi ordering a maid to wipe down her imaginary grime the second she left the premises.

Greta’s door was open a crack and Elsie could hear whispers as she stepped onto the landing. The door opened before she reached the knob, and Kitty stepped out. She looked her up and down without a greeting, shook her head, and stalked off down the hall. Elsie pushed the door and let it swing open, pulling Greta in her bed into a white frame. The sick girl’s face lit up, and Elsie had never seen someone so happy to behold her.

“Els,” She said, but her voice was weak and didn’t sound as musical as it once had. “Finally.”

“I know,” Elsie said, her throat suddenly thick. “I’ve missed you.”

“Well, come in. You won’t catch it or anything. Don’t be scared, I know I don’t look quite right…”

Her cheeks were sallow. Her eyes were sunken. Her arms were skeletal. Even her perfect blonde hair had lost much of its luster.

“I’m not scared,” Elsie said as she walked toward her friend. But she was.

She pulled up a chair to her bedside. It was prepositioned, like it was the designated visiting chair. She imagined Tommy falling asleep in it during his endless hours in that very room. How he had been able to spend so much time there…Elsie wanted to leave right away. She felt like she couldn’t breathe. She sat, though. And when Greta put a delicate hand on her arm, her chest relaxed.

“My dress looks awful on you,” Greta’s laugh sounded more like a cough, and it was contagious. “You know you’re supposed to tie that, right?” She pointed to a loose ribbon dangling from the sleeve.

“I thought you’d like it,” Elsie smiled. “You said lace could bring out my complexion.”

“Not white lace, clearly,” she said. “Though, perhaps with some make-up…”

They laughed together, that time, but Elsie’s heart was continuing to sink.

“Greta,” Elsie started, searching desperately for the right thing to say. “How are you--?”

“Don’t ask me how I’m feeling. I’ll shove that ribbon right up your nose.” 

“Understood.” 

The girl leaned back on her pillows. She was uncomfortable. Elsie wondered if there was a position possible that would make her feel any relief.

“I got your letter. Tommy’s handwriting is terrible, but the sentiment was there. You’re good with words, you know. I wish there’d been more time for me to teach you to write for yourself.”

“Please don’t speak like that,” Elsie whispered. “I can’t stand it.”

“Oh, _you_ can’t stand it?”

“I didn’t mean…”

“I told him not to propose,” Greta murmured suddenly. “It didn’t seem worth it. I know mother wanted it. Father did, too. They like that he comes every day and stays until he’s told to go. As if marriage is supposed to save me.”

Elsie felt her jaw tighten, but that didn’t stop her voice from rising with her temper.

“Why are you so resigned to die? All this time, you were supposed to be getting better.”

“You’re acting like a child,” Greta didn’t have the energy to retort in anger, but she bore into Elsie with an icy expression. “You’ve got no right to be disappointed in me, not when I’ve been fighting for my life for weeks, sometimes hanging on by just my fingernails…And I’m still here. Stuck in this bed because I can’t do anything else, no matter how much I want to run with you by the water or hold Tommy in my arms, or get married…I haven’t been living in a long time, Els.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“God damn, I think the only reason I’ve lasted this long is because I don’t want to hurt anyone. This look you’re giving me…anger at the world, anger at my illness…I’m the one responsible. And Tommy comes and looks at me like that for hours at a time…It destroys me. And yes, it’ll keep me fighting. But the cost is high.”

“Greta, I—“

“I wanted you here so you would look at me like you used to. Not like I’m a dying girl. Like I’m your friend who tripped and fell in a pile of shit. Like I just told you where I last kissed my love. Like…like you’re trying to beat me in a game of cards. Can you please do that for me?”

Elsie’s eyes fell to the deck of cards neatly laid on her nightstand. She closed her eyes, but when she did she saw Obsidian’s blank face. So she opened them, and saw her friend. Alive. Waiting to play.

“I can,” She said, reaching for the cards.

“I have one more favor to ask,” Greta said quietly.

“Anything.”

“Tommy. You’ll look after him, if…?”

Elsie almost thought she was joking, but the girl’s face was hard.

“I think he can look after himself well enough,” she mumbled.

“No. That man cannot be alone with his head for too long. He needs someone…just to distract him. Bring him back to Earth every now and then.”

“Distract him from what, though?” Only then did it occur to Elsie that maybe Greta had a stronger hold of Tommy’s thoughts than anyone else.

“I don’t know. I don’t have to know.”

Elsie looked down at her hands and bit down hard on the inside of her cheek.

“So?” Greta asked after too long a moment had passed. “Can you do that for me, too?”

Elsie slid the cards from their pack and began to shuffle.

“Let’s start with our game.”


	5. Chapter 5

She expected the Earth to stand still when it happened. She wanted it to. Elsie wanted the wind to stop blowing, the cats to stop yelping, and the river to freeze where it ran. When the crows continued to screech and the streets became busy, as though they didn’t know something was horribly wrong, she wanted to stand in the middle of a field and scream until her lungs burst so that the world might hear and mourn with her instead of turning a blind eye. How could it ignore so easily when something precious had been taken from it? She imagined the universe like a wealthy man, with so much gold that a stolen doubloon would do nothing to quell his happiness. But there had been no greater gold than Greta.

It was Curly who had told Elsie, first. She had snuck to a lone spot along the cut to smoke and escape the cursing and construction in the lumberyard. As normal as one could get living on the periphery of the Shelby’s inner lives, that was as it had been those last few weeks. Their betting ring was steadying. Birmingham crime had been down. Even Charlie had been spotted smiling over a pint more than once. Everyone was finding their peace, except Elsie, it seemed. There was still no place for her out of the stables, despite the kindness she’d been shown. Tommy would feign deafness anytime she brought up the business. Curly would smile and compliment her arrangement of the tack room. The rest of the Shelbys acknowledged her only when she was seated at the bar at the Garrison.

And then, when Curly found her that night, she realized there was no place she wanted to belong. The sun fell as he said the words she couldn’t un-hear and her mouth processed before her mind.

“When?” She asked, keeping her cigarette pressed against her lips like it would barricade any emotion from seeping out.

“On’y hours ago,” Her brother said solemnly. He was never afraid to bear his feelings. Where his softness made him simple and unassuming in the eyes of his fellow men, his empathy was what perhaps made him the one person the Shelby’s trusted most. Meanwhile, Elsie had trained herself differently, learning from a young age that for a woman to display her heart openly was as pathetic as a mewling baby, and just as demanding.

She turned around to see what face Curly was wearing, and was unsurprised to find only concern. Fighting through the pain to keep her eyes locked on her brother—because, she owned him at least that much for his efforts—Elsie nodded.

“Tommy wanted me to tell you,” He went on. “Thought it should come from me.”

“Thank you,” Elsie said in a voice of stone. “For telling me.” She turned back to the black water below and what little warmth remained in her cigarette.

“Come back to the house, Els,” Curly said quietly. “I’ll put on some tea. We can read by the fire. Just you an’ me, hm?”

She could imagine the comfort of that image as easily as if Curly had brought the chimney and a steaming cup right to her. As much as she was tempted to run into his arms and let grief envelop her body, she stood strong. She did not believe she deserved to be comforted in that moment. She did not deserve anything. Her friend was gone, taken, and what she was left with was a burning hole that was only growing. To try filling that hole would only seem to tarnish Greta’s memory. The hole was penance for being the one still alive.

“Go on, Curly,” Elsie replied, unable to look at him any longer. “I’ll be along later.”

“Elsie—“

“I’m fine. I love you.” She hoped that would be enough. It always was for Curly, but she wished it was so much more.

“…I love you, Els.”

When his footsteps faded away, she realized she hadn’t been breathing. It felt wrong to inhale, and each new breath shook the world.

Elsie only left her room for stable chores that next week. Her bed became impressed with her shape. Her entire body felt saturated in heat and cold simultaneously, like there would be no way for her to get comfortable again. The days passed by too quickly, as often they did when filled with nothingness. She’d wake up feeling ill, as though her nightmares were full of contagion. By afternoon, she’d grow hard and strong, hauling water into troughs and wrapping hay into tight spirals. In the evening, she’d drink to force herself asleep.

When finally, Charlie sent her to the town’s center for supplies, she brushed her matted hair to avoid a beggar’s appearance.

Elsie walked slowly down the cobblestone, avoiding carts and horses’ droppings. It was a day where the sun lit up the gray sheet of clouds that hovered over Birmingham, so the children were out playing in front of their parents’ storefronts. Their laughter felt like shards of glass in her brain, but she persisted. She noticed, however, when the symphony of the street faded almost to a stop, like someone had turned down the volume of a gramophone. Heads began to bend down and become busier with their work, almost in an unconscious bow. She knew what the omen meant, and Elsie kept walking, but pulled her hat down further on her face.

The Blinders walked in the middle of the road, as bold as Moses had parted the sea. Polly was with them, a splash of color to accent the coal coats of her three nephews. Elsie hadn’t known what they looked like on patrol. The boys she’d played with and drank with disappeared entirely into their menacing flavor.

She gripped the basket tighter as she grew closer to the gang, unsure where her fear was coming from. The mystery was solved when Tommy looked up and caught her eye. Her stomach lurched when she found nothing but anger, there. He changed his course from his choreographed march with his brothers, and approached her with as much calm as a livid man could muster. He didn’t speak until he loomed right above her.

“Where the fuck were you?” He asked softly, deadly. Elsie kept her head bent.

“What are you talking about?” She muttered.

“When they buried her. Where were you?” Tommy was careful to keep his temper at a simmer, but Elsie felt her face flush.

“Not there,” She replied simply.

“No. Not fucking good enough,” He worked hard to make each word a knife. “You needed to be there.”

“Why? So my tears could appease her parents?”

“It was the bloody proper thing to do, Els.”

“’Proper’,” She spat it back out at him. “Haven’t you got it through your thick skull, yet? I’m _not_ ‘proper’. That’s your bit, isn’t it?”

“My _bit_ , Els?”

She didn’t care that she was testing his limit. She tilted her chin upwards to mimic the superiority he possessed and dug into her heels.

“Yeah, I bet everyone there was so fucking chuffed about the handsome boy who was by her side ‘til the end. Cried even harder when they saw him standing over her grave. A boy who fit perfectly into their perfect, proper family for their perfect, proper daughter.”

“You better start shutting up.”

“You worked hard, didn’t you? To earn your ticket into high society,” Elsie stood so much smaller than him, but her voice was becoming higher and higher. “But guess what, Tommy? You lost your rich, pretty, gold-haired wife _and_ your alliance with her Italian family. For all those fine things you’re attracted to, all those niceties you’ve acquired by acting blue blooded…you still lost. Being ‘proper’ has still left you with nothing but your dirty gypsy roots.”

He looked like he wanted to lunge at her, but composure in public was one of the many “proper” ordinances he had just about mastered.

“Watch your fucking tongue,” Tommy jabbed a finger at her in lieu of an attack. “I loved her. You _know_ I loved her.”

“So did I,” Elsie said through gritted teeth. “Don’t act like me not being there means I didn’t.”

“It was selfish, you fucking—“

“Tommy!”

Polly’s voice cut across the street as she clipped towards them. She’d waited long enough for Tommy to return to them. A hand on his shoulder subdued the shout in his throat.

“That’s enough,” She said sternly as he shook off her touch. “Give it a rest. Can’t you see the girl’s got errands to run?”

She looked at Elsie like she was analyzing more than just her purpose in town, but as usual, the girl couldn’t hold her gaze without the hairs on her neck rising. Tommy looked around as though just realizing they were not alone in his bedroom, where the majority of their screaming matches happened in their youth. They hadn’t fought this badly in ages, but Elsie was feeling her heart squeeze the way it had when she was small and a disagreement rose beyond civility.

Polly pulled her gloves down further and raised her eyebrows, daring either one of them to speak further. The power she had over her nephew was waning the older he grew, but there were still times such as these that she could call him back to reason. She must have been considering how it looked, the proclaimed protector of the neighborhood tormenting a helpless shopping girl. Image was her specialty, but her boys didn’t always keep up. Tommy and Elsie glared at each other, and Elsie tried to read his thoughts behind his guarded eyes, so piercing that they almost repelled her stare.

“Right, Pol,” He straightened himself up. “Let’s be off.” He turned with a flutter of his coattails, pulling is cigarette case from his pocket in the same move. Polly stood for a second longer than he, just to pass one more judgmental glance over Elsie’s frozen figure. She watched them disappear down the street, which seemed to pop back to life as they passed, like hair as a comb runs through it.

She had to steady herself before running the rest of the way home. She ran fast enough that the tears spilling from her were caught up by the wind and sent spiraled in far-off directions. After delivering the new tools and refilling the pantry, Elsie retreated to her bed without a word to anyone.

Hours later, her door burst open. It was not Curly who stood there to comfort her, but Charlie, who looked uncomfortable himself wearing his famous grimace.

“’Nough moping, girl,” He said, folding his arms. “That pregnant mare’s near about her time. Better get out there.”

Elsie hopped to her feet and hoped her eyes weren’t red as she nodded at Charlie.

“Yes, sir.”

The man watched her run to the closet to retrieve a large blanket.

“That’s one of my best quilts,” He noted.

“Well,” Elsie struggled to fold it up into a carrying size. “When you give birth, you can have it back.”

She thought she heard him chuckle as she rushed past him, out of her bedroom and out of the house. Something must have gone wrong. According to her measurements, the foal wasn’t due for another month at least. The mare must have been under stress, perhaps someone raced her without Elsie’s knowledge. Perhaps she was ill and Elsie hadn’t noticed. She’d never forgive herself if she’d let her anguish cost a creature its life…

But there were no noises of distress coming from the stables. In fact, the night was at ease, with only the chirping of happy insects and a breeze that felt like a gentle touch. When she stepped in, she saw Tommy standing in the center lane separating the stalls, a full bottle of whiskey in one hand and two glasses in the other.

Elsie stood still at the entrance, as though an invisible wall had sprung up, preventing her from moving towards him. His blue eyes were lighter than they had been that afternoon’s, polished and forgiving. He held up the bottle and swirled it around slightly for show.

“Peace offering,” He explained. His voice was just above a whisper but she could hear every word. She swallowed and placed the folded quilt on a nearby barrel.

“There’s no horse in labor, is there?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Tommy set down the glasses on a neat bale of hay. “Wasn’t sure you’d come, otherwise.”

“Didn’t think _you’d_ come at all,” Elsie said, wishing she was choosing her words more carefully.

He was already pouring, which meant he intended to stay for as long as it took to finish the bottle.

“I owe you—“ He started.

“I’m sorry,” Elsie blurted. Tommy looked moderately surprised as he handed her a full glass.

“I know,” He said, breaking his speech with a shot to clear his throat. “I am, too. For shouting.” He paused as if he were reconsidering the apology. Then, he added, “But don’t get it in your head that it was right of you not to pay your respects.”

“Tommy…”

“It reflects poorly on us. The Jurossis have been kind, and given your affiliation with our family, your absence was surely noted—“

Elsie couldn’t stop herself from interrupting again, exploding fast.

“So you admit it? That’s what this is about?” Elsie was almost laughing with rage. “Good business?”

Tommy’s lips twitched into a smirk and he pressed his glass against them.

“’Course not. Just wanted to rile you up again.”

When Elsie drank this time, it was to hide her trembling lips.

“Why?” She asked finally.

“Because I’m angry.” He spoke in a casual rhythm that Elsie knew could snap at any moment. “At you. At the world.”

“We have that in common.” Whether or not it took Tommy this simple conversation to forgive Elsie, it would still be a lifetime before she forgave herself.

Tommy slouched down on the hay bale, leaning in between his knees to start at the ground.

“Why didn’t you want to say goodbye?” He asked.

“Watching my friend sink into the ground was not ‘goodbye’,” Elsie replied through a clenched jaw. “She wasn’t there. She wasn’t that body anymore, Tommy.” As her throat tightened it became harder to speak. “I couldn’t pretend. I couldn’t fool myself into thinking it would do any good. So I didn’t go.”

“You don’t think she would’ve wanted you to?”

“I don’t know what she would’ve wanted. Do you?”

“Yes,” He said quietly. “To be alive.”

Suddenly, Tommy stomped to his feet and threw his tiny glass against a stall door where it smashed into a thousand pieces. The horse within was spooked, but not as much as Elsie, who had leapt back for fear the violence would redirect to her. He walked to the end of the stable hall like it was a narrow plank, but when it didn’t lead to a long fall, he stopped and inhaled with his arm over his eyes. The breath he let out was like a distant lion’s roar, a scream drowned in murkiness but terrifying all the same. Elsie sank to her knees and watched him.

“She would’ve wanted to marry me. Yeah, she would’ve. She would’ve wanted me not to _fuck_ other women. She would’ve wanted to spend these last few months dancing instead of stuck in her damn bed. But FUCK what anyone good wants, eh? FUCK being kind and deserving of happiness.” He kicked an empty tin pail that clattered magnificently across the hard ground.

“Tommy.” Elsie had no words besides his own name to try and soothe him.

“And you,” He spun on his heel and moved at a frightening pace until he stood right above her. “You’re absolutely fucking right. You shouldn’t have been there for her. She wouldn’t have cared.” He shook his head and Elsie was sure he had succumb to tears. Wrathful, tired tears. “You should’ve been there for _me_.”

It stung, his truth. She hadn’t even considered he would need her, or that she would be of any help in easing his pain. She’d been afraid to see him. To be alone with him. It was only guilt that made her cry, now, knowing that she’d disobeyed Greta’s final wishes and tormented an already tormented man. Guilt that she wanted to hold onto Tommy and never let him go.

Elsie reached up and pulled on his wrists, bringing him down to her level. In his eyes she now saw her own hurt reflected. He was still trying to catch his breath when she threw her arms around him and whispered, “I’m here now.”

He grabbed onto her, hard, like she was the only thing that could keep him afloat. They sat like that for what felt like years, clutching into each other as though if they tried hard enough they could mold the pain of two people into one and soften the hardship. But that was not possible.  
  


Elsie could not imagine ever feeling more severed as she did in that moment, into multiple cuts like an animal in a butcher's shop. Yet, for her hubris in thinking so, she had to be proven wrong the very next day. 


	6. Chapter 6

A visit from Polly the following day was the last thing Elsie expected or desired. Yet when noontime came, the woman was standing in front of the stables in a lavish scarf that matched her coat and torn pantyhose. The stables had become more like Elsie’s personal office than a functional barn, it seemed. Polly must not have been waiting long, but when the girl approached to conduct the afternoon chores, she sucked her cheeks in impatiently.

“Ms. Shelby,” Elsie greeted her in a weary voice, weighed down by the full bucket of water she was heaving at her side. It was amazing how light liquid felt on skin, but heavy as gold in a pail…

“Gray,” Polly practically snapped in sync with the closing of her silver cigarette case. The fire from her match was as red as her lips.

“Mrs. Gray,” She amended. “Apologies.”

She smiled her sinister smile. Elsie hated that smile. It always made her feel like a foolish child.

“We are who our men deem us to be, after all,” The woman said silkily, taking a long drag from her stick like she had lungs as large and deep as a whale’s. Uncomfortable, Elsie shifted the bucket and accidentally splashed a few drops, painting the dirt below. Her heart skipped as it spilled, as though her animal instinct feared the display of weakness would be her predator’s signal to pounce.

“What can I do for you, then?” She asked after clearing her throat.

“Am I not allowed to wander my own stables without question? Perhaps I want to go for a ride,” Polly began walking inward, but slow enough that Elsie gathered she was expected to follow. More sloshing of the water within as they walked gave Polly pause. “What have you got there?” She asked, the effort of reaching for pleasant conversation slipping into her voice.

“Bought a few goldfish off a merchant in town,” Elsie replied, grunting slightly as she rested it on the ground. “I’m bringing them to the troughs.”

“That old gypsy trick?” Polly snickered. “It truly works, does it?”

“Years of wormless horses seem to think so,” she said. It had actually been Polly’s sister in law, Tommy’s mother, who had taught her. “I can tack up Misty if you’d like. You used to ride him, right?”

But Polly was giving no indication that she had actually come to the stables for their proper usage.

“It certainly has been a while, hasn’t it?” She said in a tone akin to a fortune teller’s. “I prefer wheels to hooves these days. S’pose that makes me a traitor to the business, doesn’t it?”

When Elsie said nothing, she dropped her cigarette into the pail where it went out with a sizzle.

“Or just reaping the benefits,” She went on. “Soon, I suspect, these creatures will all be obsolete. And so will you.”

Somehow, her irritation gave Elsie the boldness she required to keep up with the woman.

“A motor can’t compare to a breathing companion,” She said, frowning.

“You’d be surprised. Have you ever ridden in an automobile?”

“No, ma’am.

“You will,” Polly said, again like she was looking into a crystal ball. “And while you’re riding with your head out the window, the smell of gas more intoxicating than any opium you’ve known, you’ll think to yourself, ‘this is real power’. Because, try as we might, we cannot control a horse the way we do a machine.”

“…Does that mean you don’t want to ride today?”

Polly cocked her head to one side and smiled, though it was softer this time.

“You’re not very quick, are you?” She asked, incensing Elsie further.

“And you don’t like me very much.”

“On the contrary, dear,” Polly bent down with her knees pressed together to retrieve her wet cigarette from the water, sending the goldfish into a frenzy. “Ever since you were small I’ve admired you. You came here and had to learn everything by your lonesome, including what it was to be young and a woman. But I do worry for you.”

“Why is that?”

“You’re lost.”

“Am I? And what authority are you to tell me so?” Elsie said. “You hardly know me.”

“I’m quite the intuitor. I’ve seen it before, the face of one who is thrown from every path in search of the righteous one. I don’t mean God’s path,” She added when Elsie started to protest. “I meant one that sits right with you. Elsie, you hardly have a place here in Small Heath, do you? Or among us. But that could change.”

“…How?”

Polly looked down at the bucket in lieu of an answer.

“Here, let me help you carry this…” She reached down for the handle, but Elsie beat her to it. She practically swung the bucket back up and started lugging it deeper towards the stalls.

“I’ve got it, thanks,” Elsie huffed.

“You’re too weak right now. Haven’t you noticed?” Polly crossed her arms but the corners of her mouth were raised. She was watching Elsie with a new intensity, like she could see her heart beating in her chest. “Just as I suspected,” She went on. “I thought I sensed it the other day in the market, but I had to make sure. You’re pregnant.”

Elsie dropped the bucket, the contents spilling like an ocean wave across the floor with frightening speed. The goldfish bodies began leaping and writhing as their surroundings became inhabitable and inescapable.

“Fuck,” Elsie choked, looking at the mess she had caused. After accepting the fate of her fish, she whipped her head to Polly with a furious glare. “Don’t say things like that!”

“What? The facts?” She looked amused by the reaction. “Surely you suspected.”

“I thought…I didn’t think…”

“Certainly you did not. And it’s his? My Tom’s?” She was asking as though she truly didn’t know the answer. “I always thought him a loyal boy, but that doesn’t mean I never wondered. You were spending all that time together in Greta’s final months…”

“Shut it,” Elsie’s voice quaked. “Please shut it. Don’t…you can’t tell Tommy.”

“Why?” Polly’s smirk made her want to claw at her face. “Afraid he’ll marry you?”

Elsie’s mouth hung open in a response that wasn’t coming. Her body carried her slowly against the stable wall where she slumped to the ground.

“You know he will,” Polly continued. “And then you’ll be an official part of the family. No more of this gritty, shit life. Onto another, even shittier one. ”

All Elsie could do was bury her forehead deeper into her arms. She heard Polly sigh like she was lecturing an uncooperative deviant.

“Or, of course, if you’ve got the money…I could give you the name of someone who—“

“What the fuck,” Elsie whispered. “What the fuck have I done?”

“Do you love him?”

The question was not intended as an attack, but it felt as though she were being accused of murder.

“If you do, the answers become clearer.”

“No,” Elsie said. “You’re wrong. It’s makes things far more complicated.”

“So that’s a ‘yes’, is it?”

“Please just leave me.”

“Who are you to tell me to leave, girl?” Polly’s voice was suddenly sharp. “I’ll do as I please. As will you, I predict. I promise I haven’t come here to torment you. I’d hoped to ease your mind. He’d make a good husband. A fine father.”

“He’s leaving,” Elsie said, just audible enough for Polly’s perky ears to pick her up. “Off to serve his bloody country.”

“He might change his mind.”

Elsie looked up to find the fierce woman’s eyes, for once, averted. She almost laughed out of both derangement and realization that _of course_ Polly’s actions that day were for her nephew’s sake, Elsie’s feelings be damned.

“Have I become your last chance for his salvation, Mrs. Gray?” It was Elsie’s turn to spin a timid smile into a weapon. She rose back up to her feet, swaying as she fought against the fantasy weight that had dragged her down in the first place. “A baby won’t make him stay.”

“You don’t know that—“

“I _do_ know that. If the flourishing business, his little brother and sister, and the love of his _fucking_ life were not enough to quell his patriotism, then I sure as hell won’t come close. I thought you knew him better than that.”

Unfazed, Polly’s face slowly melted into a regal leer, not unlike one worn by a cat with its paw on a mouse’s tail.

“Oh, believe me, I know that boy better than he knows himself. He’s grieving, and it’s never a good look on him. The brute within starts to rear its ugly head, and I couldn’t bear it if he let this loss swallow him whole. He’s more sensitive then he lets on, in a different manner than his brothers. It weighs on him.” She was already lighting another cigarette, her swift movements revealing where Tommy had inherited his smoking skills. “This little announcement could knock some sense into him. A baby makes a man think twice.”

“A good man, maybe.”

“You don’t think he’s a good man?” Polly was not angry, merely surprised.

“You do?” Elsie retorted. She’d never considered herself a good woman, and Tommy had always been her basis for goodness measured. She received a long drag in response.

“If you don’t tell him,” Polly smooshed her unfinished cig with her toe. “I will.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Yet the words carried no weight nor threat. The older woman smiled, kinder this time.

“There are a lot of things I ‘wouldn’t dare’, dear,” She said, her voice as sharp and unassuming as a needle. “Protecting my family is not one of them.” With that, she turned and glided from the stables, the sound of her heels resonating louder than hooves did on the hard ground.

Elsie had to steady herself on a barrel, the mess of the water and goldfish below filling her senses to their breaking point. Her visitor had left her world in shambles, like she’d been snatched from a blissful dark covering and dragged up to the surface on a hook, not unlike the carcasses on the ground. There was no denying Polly was a woman of her word, and once news reached Tommy’s ears it would be all over. In truth, Elsie had no idea how he would react. Would he be angry? Insist she get rid of it? Would he be as frightened as she was? It felt like nothing but a curse, a punishment for betraying her friend. Despite her rage with God, she’d perhaps not entirely stopped believing in a benevolent force set out to reprimand her. Just when Elsie thought she’d been dried up of all tears, more sprung to her like life water poured on to remind her of feeling.

She closed her eyes to let the hot wetness pool over her lids. How long would she have until Tommy knew? Long enough to tack up a horse, she suspected. She was going for a ride.


	7. Chapter 7

Like she’d ridden as a child, Elsie had forgone the reigns and had to trust Loosefire would not mind her clutching at the beast’s stiff mane as they sailed through the darkening air. The field arrived underhoof quicker than she’d expected, and she gratefully dismounted beside a lone tree--a straggler, grown a significant distance from the edge of the small forest and its kin. The field felt smaller that evening, like it wasn’t as far a place to escape to as she’d thought. Maybe it never had been, even when she and Tommy were small and pretended they were running away from home. Yet the lights and smoke were still within sight, and Elsie wondered if they would ever leave her vision. If she would ever see more of the world like she’d intended, like she imagined her gypsy parents had. Perhaps that was why they had abandoned her and Curly. With children in tow, her world would grow smaller than it already was. There was so much she didn’t know…

She felt faint all of a sudden, and almost dove to the base of the tree, laying her head on a patch of moss and squeezing her eyes shut until her head steadied. It was cool, but not enough for a fire. Elsie welcomed the encroaching darkness, hoping it would bury her for a while longer. The peace didn’t last. She hadn’t done her best to hide from him, and he was the only person who would know exactly where to find her. She was a creature of pattern, and tended to pick the same hiding places, which she supposed spoke very poorly of her worldly wisdom.

He arrived on horseback, driving his steed fast through the tall grass as though he were running a race. Dirt kicked in Elsie’s face as the horse skidded to a halt in front of her perch under the tree. He was out of breath, but trying hard to stifle his panting as he thudded to the ground. Each step he took while rounding the horse made Elsie shiver, as though his were the boots of an executioner.

Tommy stood before her for a few moments, looming while he took in the pathetic sight on the ground. She didn’t move, just kept her hands wrapped around her knees, pulled tightly to her chin. Quick as lightening, his hand shot out to grab her wrist and yank her to her feet. In the instance of her yelp, she was staring into his cold, blue eyes and his hard grip around her didn’t hurt anywhere near as much as being the center of his fear and anger. Again. _Why do I upset him so?_ She couldn’t understand how the man who could calm a pub brawl with a look and a whistle was so easily thrown into battle around her. He shared all of his emotion with her, like her presence allowed him to be human. But rarely before had she been the one to incite an ounce of it.

He dropped her wrist, and pushed both his hands against the sides of her shoulders in a firm hold His breathing was still quick, and Elsie could feel it hot on her cheeks. Their noses almost touched. It was only for that reason that she could not return his fury. She stayed tight lipped as his hands moved slowly up and down her arms and he tried to read her closed expression.

“Have you…” he panted and wheezed, like his heart was caught in his throat. “…gone completely fucking mad?”

She didn’t say anything, but narrowed her brows just slightly. Tommy’s eyes darted back and forth across her face, and when she wouldn’t give in, he sucked in a sharp breath and released her. He stumbled back a few paces and turned away, running one hand through his greasy hair and putting the other on Loosefire’s neck.

“Riding off with my horse?” He mused. “They say that’s bad for the baby, you know.”

“What is? Riding or stealing?”

Even with his back to her, she could hear his tiny smile.

“ _Now_ you’ve got a mouth. You better start using it to explain yourself.”

Elsie folded her arms and rocked slowly from her heels to her toes, her voice returning as he stared at the sky instead of her.

“Polly told you, then,” She said. Somehow, there’d been a sliver of hope that the woman had pitied her.

“And you didn’t.”

“No.”

Tommy slowly spun towards her, his face softer but still impenetrable.

“Why?” He asked. He asked that question far too often of her. Elsie wished, for once, that he would just _know_ the reasons behind her actions because she, surely, did not.

“Because…” She said quietly. “What the fuck happens now?”

He took two steps forward and looked around at the sky, his gaze suddenly aimless. His hands both dove into his pants pockets, and when one resurfaced it had plucked a small silver object she recognized at once. He held it up like it was no more noteworthy than a playing card.

“We get married,” He said simply, his voice a shrug.

The sight of the ring sent Elsie into a panic, and she backed herself up against the tree like a devil avoiding the cross.

“That ring was meant for Greta,” She whispered.

“And now it’s yours,” Tommy was moving slowly closer, his hand outstretched.

“Stop it,” Elsie shook her head ferociously. “I don’t want it. Put it back.”

He clutched the ring deep in his fist, shielding it from view for a moment. He looked from Elsie to the ground, and his jaw twitched.

“Don’t be stupid,” He murmured, but his voice broke on the last word.

“Tommy,” Elsie regained her confidence and sidled up to him, putting a hand on his cheek. “It’s alright. You don’t have to…I can see someone, yeah? It’ll be like it never happened. I just need the money. Your brothers, they’ve done it before, with girls in town.”

“I’m not my fucking brothers.” He gently removed her hand from his face, and gripped it hard. She was hypnotized for an instant.

“Alright,” She said slowly, her voice as cool as the air. “We get married. Then what?”

It unnerved her that he didn’t need to think. His reply was calculated and devoid of emotion.

“You learn to write, so you can tell me of the baby while I’m gone.” A slight pause before he went on. “If it’s a girl, we’ll name her after my mother. A boy…you can choose.”

“So, you marry me and then run off to war?”

“This week.”

“I—what?”

“We’ll wed this week,” Tommy said, clearing his throat. “Before I go. You’ll be provided, of course, with whatever you need to live comfortably while I’m away. You’ll move into the house, out of the shack.”

“You’ll _compensate_ me, that it? Pay me for the trouble for having your kid?”

His mouth twitched and looked odd without the crutch of a cigarette to steady him.

“’Compensate’, eh? So, you do listen when I talk shop. Better than me own brothers, I’d wager.” His smile was almost proud. “You ain’t a client, Els, for fuck’s sake. Maybe you’ll even help Polly take care of the business in the coming months…”

“I’d be a lousy bookie,” Her face was red. “And a wife.”

“You haven’t tried.”

“Oh, fuck off.”

“Stop looking for a fight,” he rolled his eyes, like he used to in their smaller quarrels. But there was exhaustion behind the action.

“You’re really going, aren’t you?” She asked, because she had to, and he gave her a look that plainly read, _that was never a question_.

Elsie was torn between feeling a vengeful pride that she had proved clever Polly wrong, and the stabbing wound of being nowhere near enough to keep the man from his battle. She wanted to be proud of him, from the moment he’d made the announcement, but her nightmares had been filled with his lifeless body in a field of trampling soldiers. She was resigned, then, that she would have lost both of her friends before the year was through. It hardly seemed fair.

She thought back to what his aunt had said, about him being a good man. She supposed it was good to die fighting for your country, so long as it was a country worth saving. Elsie had seen men leave their families with ease to join the fray. Maybe “good” was knowing he was no better than any other able bodied man.

But while their stories ended in fire and glory, Elsie’s would turn stale. Her responsibilities would pale in comparison, consisting of trying to instill “goodness” on an innocent life when she didn’t know the meaning of the word…and all without Tommy. Even if, by some miracle, he returned to her, she would never un-see the looks of love he had served only Greta, and years of not receiving those same looks would only fill her with bitterness.

Was that what Greta wanted? To be a wife, a mother? Elsie’s guilt resurfaced as she realized she was taking a life not intended for her. It hurt almost as much as if Elsie had killed her a second time.

Tommy was holding the ring in his open palm. He lifted it up higher, and Elsie recoiled.

“If she had lived,” She whispered, her breath crackling. “Would you still give that to me?”

His eyes faltered only for a second.

“Why would you ask such a thing?” He scolded. “None of that matters, now.”

“It matters to me.” She was trembling, and he stepped back as if repelled. “Would you--?“

“Just take the fucking ring.” He thrust it at her like it had no more meaning than the offer of a coat to warm her.

“But if she _were_ —“

“But she’s NOT!” His cry shook the resting birds out of the tree like leaves. He took time to collect himself, and when he did he was staring pleadingly at Elsie. It was almost pitiful. He marched right back to her and took her left hand, holding up limply. “Please…don’t make this difficult. I’m trying to do the right thing. C’mon.” He forced the ring onto her finger, where it fit all too well. Elsie had gone too numb to resist. “There,” he whispered, and folded her bejeweled hand between both of his. There were tears in his eyes, too, that only validated the vicious shame she felt. Whatever he said, whatever his ‘proper’ instincts were instructing him, this was not an act of desire. It was blind duty. Somehow, that hurt more than if he’d chosen to cast her out.

She looked down at the ring branding her, and could not tear her eyes away until Tommy tilted her chin up towards his.

“A baby, Elsie,” He said. “Think about that. We’re being given life, after it was taken from us.”

“Why can’t I shake the feeling God is testing me?” She replied.

“Because,” He spun her so he could wrap his arms around her front and share the same view. He rested his chin on her shoulder and leaned in close to her ear. “You think you’re special. But the truth is, He probably doesn’t give enough of a shit.”

Her lips pressed upward into her first smile of the night.

“Some comfort you are,” she muttered. He pulled her tighter and swayed slightly.

“This is supposed to be happy, yeah?” Tommy said. “I wanted it to be happy.”

“We were never very good at being happy.”

“Maybe we’ll learn.”

They stared up at the rising moon, their breath shallow and afraid of becoming loud and relaxed.

“Do you remember coming out here when we were small,” he asked quietly. “And we’d vow never to return home? We thought we’d build a gypsy caravan and roam. When we didn’t even know how to lace our shoes.”

“And we’d stay out here,” Elsie’s smile grew. “Until nightfall when your mother would find us.”

“If she hadn’t come, would we have never left this spot?”

The two of them were made up of ‘if’ questions. Elsie turned her head backwards to see him, but his eyes were so close they were blurred in her vision. She sighed.

“You would’ve gone back. Youd’ve hated a simple life.”

“And _you_ wouldn’t have?”

She nestled deeper into his arms. His world had grown so much since then, while hers had stayed the same.

“A life lived with you ain’t simple,” She said, and as she did she felt his body tense.

“…I s’pose this is all for the best, then.”

Another pang. Jealousy, rage, fear, remorse, all of it, swirled so violently inside her where she wanted to feel only warmth. This moment, when she had him all to herself, was one she thought she’d never have again. There was nothing to relish except memories of a time when she’d loved without consequence.

The question that was hovering in the space between her teeth and lips, waiting to be pushed out by the force of her tongue, remained inside. _But…do you love me?_


	8. Chapter 8

“I have to go away for a few days.”

He stood in the door of her tiny home, his scuffed toe careful not to step over the threshold. Elsie had her arms crossed tightly as she leaned against the frame, sleep still misting her eyes having only been woken moments ago at the sound of his brisk knock. Curly hadn’t even woken yet, his faint snores providing a rhythmic score for their whispered conversation. No, she hadn’t moved directly into the Shelby home following the proposal, despite the offer. She claimed indecency, but truly she wanted a few more nights in her childhood bed.

Rain splattered Tommy’s already slick hair, but he didn’t blink as he looked down at her. There was a poorly wrapped brown package under his arm and his coat was patched and unflashy, so she deduced that his travels would not be noble in nature. Still, she had to ask.

“Why?” Elsie tossed a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Business, Els,” He already sounded frustrated with her.

“That can’t keep being your excuse for everything,” She said bitterly. “You won’t even try to trust your wife-to-be?”

“Not everything’s about trust, for fuck’s sake,” Tommy pressed his lips together. “You’re better off knowing less about the shit we’re in.”

“I shovel shit for you, Mr. Shelby. Have for years,” Elsie said. “I can handle it.”

He ignored this with a sigh and reached for the paper parcel, tied with a dirty string. Without a word, he thrust it at her. Elsie regarded it with distaste.

“The hell’s this?” But she eventually took it from his outstretched hand.

“Mrs. Jurossi dropped it off last night. For you.”

The package suddenly felt contaminated and Elsie struggled to hold onto it. All she could muster was a small nod. Tommy’s face suddenly fell with kindness, and he took hold of her shoulders and placed his lips on her forehead. They felt cold on her skin.

“Won’t be long,” He said against her. “Then we’ll marry.”

“And then you’ll leave me.”

He pulled back just slightly so she could see his small smile.

“And I’ll make you proud, eh?” Tommy nudged her deeper into his arms. “For once.”

Elsie didn’t know why she rolled her eyes, but somehow the notion that her admiration was something the man had to earn seemed ridiculous. Still, as he stepped away from the door, she felt ice encroach her heart that filled her with an odd desire to hit and kiss him at the same time. The package in her arms weight heavily, yet she watched him all the way until his figure disappeared into the mist of the morning.

She rushed into her room and placed the parcel on the bed, puzzling over it like it would explode at the slightest provocation. Eventually, she gathered the courage to pull at one loose string and unravel the brown paper. Delicate green fabric poured out onto the bed. Elsie carefully lifted the corners and shook it out to reveal the gift. A lace dress. A yellowed piece of parchment fell to the ground, and her knees trembled as she bent to pick it up. The note was short, and in handwriting that looked so elegant it was entirely unintelligible. To her credit, Elsie was able to pick out a few letters, but it would have to be her brother that tried to decipher the rest. He’d learned more than she in their youth.

“Curly,” She called out her open bedroom door. “You awake?”

Creaking floorboards answered her question. He appeared with his timid smile and Elsie held up the note.

“Would you mind reading this for me?” She asked. Curly took the parchment with excessive nodding and held it close to his eyes. He squinted, as though lessening his field of vision helped him focus. Perhaps it did, Elsie thought. She’d know when she learned to read.

“I think it says…’She…wanted…you…to have these. This.’” Curly struggled but the words made sense and each one tore Elsie to pieces. He continued. “’She said…green lace…is more…you.’ I think that’s what is says, but god if that ain’t a script unkind to the eye.”

Her brother handed her back the note, but she was petrified where she stood. Curly put it on the bed beside the dress and came round to comfort her.

“Hey, Els,” He said softly. “You alright?”

She snapped back into her body and forced a small smile.

“I’m fine,” Elsie said at once. “Sorry. I mean, thank you.”

Curly looked unconvinced, but as his mouth opened to interrogate further, Elsie cut him off.

“I’m going into London today,” She announced, hoping her casual tone would remove the element of surprise. Curly’s bewilderment was no less subtle, though.

“F-for what?” He asked.

“Bill at the shop didn’t have the horse medicine I ordered, so I figure I’ll get it quicker and cheaper in the city.” Elsie had always been a quick liar, though being dishonest to Curly always left her with a guilty hole in her stomach.

“D’you need money for the train? Let me—“

“I’ve got money,” She lied again. Elsie anxiously twisted the ring on her left hand. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, Curly, I’ll be back by nightfall.”

“You haven’t been to London since you was wee,” He remarked. “Sure you’ll know your way around?”

“I’ll figure it out. I’ve got instincts, haven’t I?” She smiled wider this time to instill her brother with just the right amount of confidence. “The king’ll look out for me.”

Elsie packed only a few slices of bread and cheese before departing for the train station. Greta’s dress remained in a heap on her bed, for she knew she would never bring herself to wear it. She’d only ever been on a train once, and was hardly fond of them. Big metal monstrosities that only moved in one direction, faster than any horse, and allowing nothing to stand in its way. She would brave a locomotive on this day because she hoped it would lead to more trips. Elsie had already made her decision. Now, she would have to go about it on her own.

As she stood at the station, she balanced on the balls of her feet to allow her toes to hover over the tracks. The sound of the massive engine reached her before the billowing smoke caught in her eyes. She took a deep breath in and even her diluted tongue could taste the coal in the air. It was both ominous and freeing. There was no turning back.

* * *

Tommy returned a day early. He did not seek Elsie out himself, so it was with trepidation that she approached his home the afternoon of his arrival. She’d been summoned, told by Charlie who’d been told by Polly that Tommy wanted to see her. The man was less than pleased about being reduced to a messenger, but there was something else in his voice that made her worry, like he suspected trouble. Elsie had it all planned out. She’d tell Tommy she lost it. That was hardly unusual, especially for a woman of her constitution. They would grieve a child that never was for a little while, then he could move forward with ease. Would it be so easy for her, though? His mood would determine how he would react. Whether it would be enraging news, whether he would blame her. Or if he would pull her close and tell her it would be alright. Elsie knew even he couldn’t deny that it would provide him a way to leave with a lighter conscience.

Her entrance was made known by the loud wood under her feet, and out of the kitchen came the call of Arthur Shelby.

“Tha’ my future sister-in-law?” He sounded drunk and giddy. The scene unfolded as Elsie rounded the corner, finding Arthur accompanied by John and little Finn at the table with toast and playing cards. “Always thought it was a good match. Gypsy blood oughta stay together, eh?”

She caught sight of Arthur’s hand as he waved and smirked at the pitiful cards.

“Finn, you giving these boys a run for their money?” Elsie asked, and the small boy grinned, his cards too large for his hands and sticking out at odd angles. “Where’s your sister?”

“She cheats,” John chuckled. “She’s banned from the table. Tom’s in his room,” He nodded toward the ceiling.

Their playful demeanor set Elsie somewhat at ease. She hoped the tone of the house would carry to their brother upstairs. Elsie smiled swiftly to announce her departure, and took off towards the steps. A shadow was waiting for her when she reached the second landing. She almost screamed before instantly recognizing the shape of the only Shelby girl.

“Ada,” Elsie caught her breath. “Fucking hell, I thought you were a ghost.”

“He hasn’t been himself,” She said matter-of-factly in lieu of a greeting. “I know that’s to be expected. But I thought your engagement would bring him back.”

Ada was still very young, but her features were beginning to resemble her mother’s. Beautiful, sharp, with a voice that could make a lion whimper.

“Give him time,” was all Elsie could offer. Her nails were digging into the wood of the banister. Ada merely shrugged and moved to walk past her down the stairs.

“Hasn’t said a word to anyone since he’s been back. Just to call for you,” the girl sighed. “I hope that doesn’t mean trouble.”

“I’ve been in trouble with him before.” But Elsie felt her insides twist.

“I s’pose you’d be an alright sister,” Ada surveyed her like she would a slice of meat on her plate. “Maybe while the boys are off fighting we’ll see if you’re good for more than petting ponies, yeah?”

She left her to ponder whether the comment had been malicious or kind, and soon there was nothing between Elsie and her fiancé’s closed door.

Elsie didn’t knock, which was perhaps her first mistake. He was standing in front of the window, silhouetted against the sun-soaked drapes. His white shirt was dirty and the sleeves were unbuttoned and rolled up. One suspender was hanging loosely off his shoulder. Elsie gathered that he had begun to change out of his trip clothes and given up. She shut the door behind her, and when he didn’t turn around she rooted herself across the room. She already knew she would need to tread lightly.

“You remember teaching me to dance up here?” Elsie spoke quietly into the humidity separating them.

Dust lifted in the air where her feet had disturbed the wood floor, and looked like sparkling snow. Still, Tommy did not move or give any acknowledgement of her presence. She continued her one-sided conversation.

“I was so shit you had me take off my shoes and stand on your toes,” Elsie recalled gently. “So I could pretend. And you said if I ever danced in public—“

“I’d act like I didn’t know you,” Tommy’s whisper was cold, like someone had turned his throat to steel. “Bit cruel of me.”

“Could hardly blame you. And I learned, didn’t I?” The relief of having gotten him talking was hard to hide in her voice.

At last, he turned around. As she feared, his expression was indiscernible, his cloudy eyes carrying no hint as to how he would regard her. In one swift movement he closed the space between them and positioned one hand on her waist and the other lifted high and clutched her opposite hand

“Let’s find out,” said Tommy in a deadpan. They began to move to no music except the single screech of a warbler outside the window. Their stares centered them even as they slowly swung side to side. “Do you always remember me that way?”

“What way?”

“Cruelly.” His tone had not changed, but suddenly he felt dangerous. Elsie moved her hand from his shoulder to his cheek.

“’Course not.” She attempted a smile, but it was the wrong performance. 

“You don’t think I’m a cruel man, then?” He asked. Elsie noticed his gaze had strayed away from her eyes and above her head. She took hold of both of his shoulders.

“Tom, where is this coming from?” They had stopped their tiny waltz, another blissful moment cut short. He didn’t answer, and his body seemed to be turning to stone. “Did something happen while you were away? Did you do something?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Tommy replied, pushing her arms off of him and returning to his vigil in the square of light by the window. “I’ve done a lot. I know that. But what could I possibly have done to _you_ , Elsie?”

“Jesus, Tommy, what are you--?”

“I have friends in London.”

It took a beat of her frozen heart to try and save her story.

“And what?” Elsie raised her eyebrows, but she was already shaking. “They saw me? I was there for a day trip. Looking at dresses. I don’t own any.”

“You’re a fucking terrible liar. And you’re not as smart as you think. You asked the wrong people for information. The Shelbys’ fucking stable hand seen in the shadiest parts of town, you can imagine the gossip. And it travels fast.”

There was no story she could spin now that he would believe, and all that was left was her own resentment bubbling up to the surface before she could put the lid on the pot. 

“…Couldn’t have been much more embarrassing than the rumor that the Shelby’s breadwinner is marrying said stable hand,” Elsie matched his venom.

“FUCK, Elsie!” He slammed his fist against the wall. Tommy pulled his lips inward and shook his head to calm his rattling fury. His anger always spouted briefly like the whistle of a kettle before instantly dropping back down to a silent, deadly steam heat. Elsie knew what he’d ask next, but it didn’t make it any easier to bear. “Why?”

“Why what?” She threw back at him.

“You’re going to make me say it, eh?” He laughed derisively and rubbed his face in his hands. “You put me through hell and want to watch me try and crawl back out.”

“Put _you_ through hell? No, you don’t know the meaning of the word,” Elsie stomped over to him and yanked his arm to force him toward her. ”Hell is loving you. It’s loving you and being left by you over and over again.”

Something in her words surprised him, for she caught his eyes widening ever so slightly.

“Love?” He let the word rest in the air between them. “Love is what drove you to kill our unborn child?” Tommy paused while pretending to consider the argument. “You can see why I don’t buy that.”

“Fucking hell…” Elsie muttered, her tears finally catching up with her heaving chest. “You didn’t want it! You didn’t want _me_! I was doing you a favor. Both of us. Now we don’t have to pretend.”

With a skilled flick, Tommy popped open his cigarette case and extracted one to lay against his twitching mouth.

“Don’t ever presume to know what I want.” He lit the end and held the smoke in his lungs.

Elsie was pulling at her shirt, her fists balling up as much of the fabric as they could before letting go and repeating the action. She could have asked, she supposed. What it was he truly wanted. Years of aversions to questions and false answers made her wary, however.

“I didn’t want that,” She admitted softly. “I didn’t want you to marry me out of duty. Call it selfish. Beggars can’t be choosers, yeah? But all I ever really wanted was for you to love me. This life fell on us like a ball and chain and that’s not…what I want.”

Tommy let the cigarette continue to burn without inhaling any more. He looked at Elsie for a long time, like she was a book written in a foreign language but with the right amount of focus could be made some sense of.

“Did you ever consider,” He said quietly, dousing the smoldering cig on the windowsill. “That it was always _you_ who never loved _me_?”

Elsie inadvertently stepped back, almost ramming her elbow against his bedframe.

“What are you talking about?” She furrowed her brow. “Tommy, fuck’s sake, I’m trying to be serious.”

“Did you really think I never loved you?” It suddenly appeared on his face, the hurt that had been so deeply hidden.

“I…why would I have?”

“Elsie, I would have fucking married you years ago. Proposed to you standing in those stalls while up to my arse in shit…”

“Why didn’t you?”

He shrugged with one shoulder and pondered it.

“I started to become someone. I made a name for myself and my family. That became my purpose,” Tommy shook his head and loosely pointed at her. “But you didn’t like that someone, did you? You withdrew. You started asking the wrong questions.”

“Maybe I wanted to become someone, too.”

“I would’ve made you someone.”

“You met Greta, instead.” Elsie thought she saw him wince at the name, like it broke his heart just to hear it, the way it broke hers to say it.

“I was in love with her,” Tommy whispered. “I fell fast. She was perfect.”

“I know.”

“Never once did I suspect you were jealous.”

“I didn’t want to be,” Elsie said as salt pooled in the back of her throat. “And I didn’t want to be the latter choice, either. The one you’re stuck with when your dreams fall through.”

“I’ve never minded being stuck with you, surprisingly.”

“I don’t want—“

“I don’t think you know what you want. You never have.”

Elsie took a deep breath and tried to meet him with unteary eyes.

“A clean slate. That’s all.”

“You call this fucking _clean_?” Tommy narrowed his eyes as his voice began to rise again. “You go and you destroy everything, burn it to the ground, and then you stand above the wreckage and call it clean?”

“Isn’t that what you always do?”

“Don’t you dare push me, Elsie.”

“You were going to leave me!” Elsie cried, her sight entirely submerged in water. “You were going to leave me with a baby whose very existence was an insult to my friend’s memory. You were going to leave me to raise your child by myself!”

“And you were going to give me a good fucking reason to come back!” Tommy shouted. It was as if Elsie went deaf for an instant following the explosion. Tommy backed off at once, his shoulders rising and falling with every haggard breath he was trying to hold in.

Elsie wrung her hands but did not approach him. There, in the space between them lay some essence of truth she’d never known. He cared for her, at one time or another, though she’d been too stubborn to see it and his heart had too easily changed course. Now, she’d gone and hurt him in a futile attempt to save his murky soul. Then again, perhaps she’d only succeeded in saving herself. Was that wrong? The look on his face made her cheeks burn with both shame and anger.

“Tell me, Tom,” She said. “What exactly in your life isn’t reason enough for you to want to make it home? Your family? The bloody fucking empire you’re keen on building? …Me?”

His knuckles turned white as he pressed his fist against the wall.

“When I lost Greta I thought I’d lost the last person who could love me,” He whispered. “Really love me, you know? And she did…”

“I love you, Tommy.”

“No. You don’t,” he said flatly. The words were so definitive she almost believed them. “Or, maybe you do. Either way I’m not enough for you, am I?”

“That’s not true.”

“It’s always been true.”

“What about you, then?” She flared up again. “You want to love someone who matches your dreams of luxury, someone who will look like a gem on your arm and pose well for family portraits. That’s all you’ve ever wanted, you’re like a crow. Only attracted to shiny things…”

“We’re not discussing me. You’re the one who fucking—“ He mashed his lips closed for a moment to keep from shouting again. “None of this matters. Christ, it doesn’t matter.”

Tommy ran his hands through his hair and Elsie wanted to desperately to catch them and hold them against her, but she had become paralyzed.

“I do love you,” She murmured. 

“Stop saying that.”

“I love you.”

“You don’t,” he insisted again, suddenly calm. “You just…know me.”

Elsie closed her eyes in one last attempt to secure his trust.

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“Because it’ll make this a lot easier,” Tommy rubbed his jaw and struck a posture like he was about to conduct a business deal. “One last question. Where’d you get the money?”

“The—What?”

“The money. For the abortion. Where did you get it?” He loomed over her. “You wouldn’t take a cent from your brother, I know that much. And on the shit wage you get…this didn’t come out of your own pocket. Tell me.”

Elsie’s hand rubbing hastened. She couldn’t answer, only twisted anxiously at the skin on her finger where his ring had once been. Tommy understood at once.

“I see,” He nodded curtly. Elsie couldn’t even raise her lips to apologize. She would’ve been wasting breath, though, as she could see the man’s mind was made up. “I want you gone by the end of the week.”

“Gone?” Exile was not the punishment she’d been expecting. “Gone where?”

“I don’t care where. You’re no longer in our employ.”

“Tommy, for fuck’s—“

“You’ll pack your things. You’ll move out of the stables, out of my uncle’s. And you’ll leave Birmingham.”

“Fuck you!” Elsie shot right back at him. “You don’t own the town. Not yet.”

“Maybe you haven’t been paying as much attention as I thought. I don’t want to see you after you leave here today.”

“If I refuse to skip town?”

“I can make your life hell.” The threat sounded empty, but it lingered.

“As if you already haven’t,” Elsie fought the urge to sock him in the nose. “Who’s going to keep up your vendetta? You’ll be dead after your first battle.” She struck the right nerve and didn’t startle when he pounded the plaster wall again.

“You’re finished here. You’re finished with the Shelby family,” He pointed at her, his finger weaponized. “And I can see that no one in any corner of Small Heath hires you.”

“By order of the peaky fucking blinders, that it?”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“You’re acting like a child!” Yet it was Elsie who wanted to stamp her feet. Tommy leaned back against the windowsill.

“I’ll tell you something, Elsie,” He began relighting another cigarette, a clear indicator he felt the fight over. “I can act however I want. I _do_ own the town. I’m Thomas fucking Shelby and I can do whatever the fuck I want, got that?”

“Well, don’t let that go to your head.” The irate sarcasm dripped with her tears. “Monster.”

“Get out.” Tommy took a long drag.

Elsie stood resolutely in front of him and crossed her arms, swallowing hard to keep her voice level. She would not have his final memory of her, if this truly was to be it, appear weak.

“What about my brother?” She asked diplomatically.

“Curly will stay on.”

“And I’m to be cast out of the only home I’ve ever known? I’ve done nothing to deserve this! Have you fucking gone insane?”

“Possibly.”

“What the hell happened to your heart?” Elsie tried.

“Broken.”

“Can we just fucking _talk_ —“

“I don’t want to TALK!” Tommy bellowed, storming up to her and breathing his smoke in her face. He looked into each of her eyes, one after the other, though he was blind with rage. Elsie saw his heart break as his voice did. “Please…just go. Leave me. Let me die for my stupid fucking country. Let me forget you, and Greta, and my mother…”

“Tommy…”

“GET OUT!” He shouted and he used his free hand to shove her towards the door. Elsie was backed against the doorknob, the metal pressed against her spine.

“I’ll go. But do something for me, yeah?” she whispered. “You owe me something.”

He didn’t answer, his breathing still irregular and barely keeping his body aloft. Elsie closed her eyes, not wanting to see him that way.

“Don’t die out there, Tommy.” She opened the door, and with her foot in the door she added, “Do that for me.”

Elsie didn’t look back before she shut the door behind her. Though she wanted to crumple the second she was alone, she knew she needed to make the trek home. A home that was no longer hers. It was in a weeping daze that she made it to the front door of the shack she’d spent the better part of her childhood in. By the time she made it inside, she was grateful to be dried entirely of tears. Crying in front of Curly was a mistake she rarely made.

It was a testament to her luck that both Charlie and Curly were sitting at the table in front of the fire. Her brother took one look at her and his face fell, knowing instantly that something was amiss. Charlie turned around in his chair to glare fully at her as she stood before them. The only satisfaction she got from announcing her termination was that it came from her. Curly almost interrupted several times to protest, but each time Charlie held up a hand to quiet him. Elsie kept some secrets to herself—the story she presented was their broken engagement had enraged him past the point of no return. Men, she’d determined long ago, hardly cared about detail.

“I’ll leave tonight. I don’t own much, anyway. Might as well not delay,” Elsie finished, starting towards her room.

“Hold on, Els,” Curly stood up to catch her on the shoulder. “Tommy’s just upset.”

“And he ain’t yer employer, is he? I am,” Charlie almost puffed out his chest.

“And who do you work for, Charlie?” asked Elsie quietly. There was a grim silence that answered her unequivocally.

“He’ll come around though, surely?” Curly had to ask with a hint of optimism.

“I don’t think he will,” Elsie said bluntly. Charlie came to stand beside Curly, his arms folded and his lip curled.

“Girl’s right,” the man grumbled. “He’s shipping out in a few days, he won’t go back on his last round of orders. That boy’s always been unforgiving.”

“You’ll just stay here, lie low for a while,” Curly suggested enthusiastically.

“I love you, brother,” Elsie put her hand on Curly’s worried cheek. “But I won’t be happy if I don’t have work. I need to do this.”

“But—“

“She’s decided, Curly,” Charlie came to her defense, unexpectedly. “She’s hardly seen the world and she ain’t going to war. Let her see what else is out there.”

“Thank you, Charlie,” She said, and meant it. “I promise I’ll be back. He’s not going to keep me away from my own brother.”

“Find a way to write. We can let you know when it’s safe to return to the city,” Charlie said stiffly. Something in the word _safe_ intrigued Elsie. 

“You fear him, too?” She couldn’t stop the question. “Your own nephew?”

“Fear _for_ him,” The older man sniffed. “Don’t you?”

An hour later, Elsie had packed everything she owned, including Greta’s green dress and the carefully folded note tucked into the lace. She sighed aloud as she lifted the luggage carrier Charlie loaned her up onto the bed.

“You’ll need something else before you go,” Charlie was standing in her doorway. Elsie jumped, unaccustomed to being snuck up on by a man who carried himself so loudly through life.

“You’ve given me plenty,” She said, trying to muster more gentleness in her voice than she’d ever used while speaking to him.

“Need a name.”

Elsie blinked.

“A name? I’ve got one of those.”

“No, stupid girl, a family name,” Charlie was wrestling with his impulse to be kind to her. “You’ll take mine. You might need it, wherever you go.”

“Charlie, that’s…”

“Don’t say ‘too much’. You’ve been a help and a bleedin’ happiness over these years. Watchin’ you grow was no small thing.”

Elsie bit down on her lip to keep back the urge to hug him.

“Thank you,” She said to Charlie for the second time that night. “I…I can’t even write it though. My own name.”

Charlie retreated from the room, leaving Elsie in surprise for a moment before he returned with a quill and a scrap of birch bark.

“I didn’t teach ye much,” He said, throwing down the bark and the inked feather on her nightstand. “I’ll teach ye to at least spell your name.”

“You taught me plenty.”

“One more, then.”

Curly came in and sat on the bed, encouraging her and her mentor while she stroked the birch to create sloppy characters. She practiced as many times as it took to fill the little parchment with her name until she could do it with her eyes closed. Then, it was time to go.

“Where to?” Curly asked her as they edged the front door.

“London, first,” Elsie sighed shakily. “Then, who knows?” She had enough money left over to find a room for a night or two—she hoped long enough to find a job.

“”s an unforgiving city,” Curly said anxiously.

“It’s an unforgiving world,” said Elsie, taking one last look at Charlie, who smiled just slightly.

Out the door she went, clutching her bag in one hand and her birch paper in the other. The ink was already staining her hands. Before she took her first step, she looked down at her name, suddenly so recognizable. Even to someone who couldn’t read.

_Elsie Strong._

Elsie Strong pressed the bark against her nose and inhaled, pretending she could smell. She imagined it smelled of home, dirt, and freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I KNOW this was depressing as hell, but not only did I want to keep it canon-compliant I also wanted some assemblance of hope for what Elsie can become. I want her to have a good life, y'know? There will be one more chapter, an epilogue if you will, so stay tuned! Thank you all for reading this far and for your awesome encouragement.


	9. Chapter 9

**1930**

Fifteen years felt like nothing but sounded like everything. It was spectacular, the ways in which one could change without noticing, and even more intriguing were the ways one might not change at all during such a span. For instance, the area of Small Heath had not evolved in the slightest, to Elsie’s eyes. The small kingdom for the working class had all the same sounds, the same crumbling factories, even the same clotheslines levitating in the air between compact homes. The disregard for personal space among people and buildings was reminiscent of London, Elsie’s new home, yet the streets were somehow far more suffocating.

An ironic urge to hold her nose played across her mind when she first stepped off the train. Though there were no odors she could detect, there were memories there that repelled her the instant her foot touched the brick platform. The few others arriving with her made faces that insinuated a stench with which they were unfamiliar, although anyone with any business in Birmingham should’ve been aware of what awaited them in a coal burning town. It was near impossible to distinguish the particles floating in the gray sky as snow or ash.

She’d been back once. Or maybe twice. Visiting her brother had become a chore until finally he began earning enough to travel to Elsie, so as to spare her the knot in her chest that had overwhelmed her trips. In her heart, the only gratitude she still felt towards Thomas Shelby was for keeping Curly employed with steady raises. And yet…she’d come, when he’d written her.

The letter she’d received not a week prior was written on fine stationary, with the company insignia printed at the top. Though the parchment had not been personal, the words that he’d typed out were of a voice welled with sincerity:

 _Elsie_ , it read, lacking a greeting. _With Curly on the mend, I’m told you’ll be here for the holidays. I’ll send a car for you when you arrive to take you to him. Should you wish it, I’d like to invite you to dinner at my house. I owe you as much. If you agree, I’ll await your response. I’ve read your articles, by the way—I’m supposing that means you learned to type._

Fifteen years she hadn’t heard a word or seen a glimpse of the man, and his letter sounded no less casual than from that of a friend. Those few times she’d returned, she’d hidden ferociously from the Shelbys, though she was sure Curly had alerted them of her visits. What was different this time that he wanted to see her?

Curly would be healing a broken foot, crushed by a sidestepping hoof. Cautious as he was, Elsie’s brother was growing clumsy in his older age. His work didn’t consist of horses anymore, though he still tended as dutifully to the family stables as ever. Just like Elsie, he still hadn’t accustomed to a life surrounded by automobiles. Polly had been right about one thing, however: there was a great sense of power riding in a man-made machine with a man driving you at top speed over dirt roads that ripped apart under rubber wheels.

She thought about this as she had the door of a Rolls Royce opened for her by a stranger in a bowler hat, waiting just beyond the steps of the station. A hired chauffeur, judging by the way he addressed her as “Ma’am” and said not a word otherwise. Elsie hadn’t expected Tommy himself to take her, but she was surprised by the grand gesture. Perhaps he was being kind, or perhaps he was showing off. Probably both.

To see the grime of downtown pass by through the shield of a glass window was surreal, especially as their journey did not stop where she’d expected. The surroundings evolved from urban decay to portly manors with trimmed gardens in the blink of an eye. Elsie was never aware of what fine neighborhoods existed just beyond the humble shack she remembered. Curly’s house wasn’t large, but it looked cleaner than the one he’d moved out of. She felt a flash of guilt for thinking it didn’t quite suit him, a man who typically returned home spattered with dirt or grease. Then again, it had been some time since she’d seen _him_ as well.

A light flickered on in a first floor window as she exited the vehicle, quicker than the driver could open her door. She bid the man of few words goodnight, and began sloshing through the building sleet up to her brother’s home. He appeared in the doorway before she could even reach the knocker, a grin already spreading across his face as he rested on a crutch.

“My little sister,” Curly marveled at the sight of her. “Came all the way from the big city just to see me, eh?” He threw a one-armed hug around her.

“Someone’s got to make sure you don’t go answering doors on a bum foot, Curly,” Elsie beamed and stepped inside, brushing wet snowflakes from her hair. “I’m sorry. I know it’s been a while.”

“I ain’t come up in some time, neither,” shrugged Curly. He tried to help her remove her coat, but struggled with his balance. Elsie laughed and helped to steady him.

“Easy, brother,” She chided. “That’s why I’m here, right? So you can relax and enjoy a nice Christmas in bed.”

“Don’t go worrying about me too much, just seeing you is its own present.”

Elsie had forgotten how her brother was ever the optimist. In her youth, it would sometimes incite guilt inside her—the way he would never be cross or downhearted, while she wore her grievances on her sleeve. Now, though, it was like a light that cast only goodness to anything in range and she couldn’t help but feel cheerier in his presence.

“I did bring you one, of course,” Elsie slipped a parcel out of her coat pocket that now hung on a lovely wood rack by the door. The house was newer and larger, but still had her brother’s flavor of eccentricity, with mud-caked boots by an unkempt hearth and scattered bottles and papers on surfaces. It was clear he’d tried to clean for her, but she imagined it to be an impossible task in his condition. She wished he hadn’t gone to any effort for her… _Hm_. Maybe the guilt hadn’t been completely assuaged when it came to Curly, after all.

She placed the gift beneath a small pine erect in the living room, with just enough tinsel to be festive.

“Something to open on the day, yeah?” Elsie led her brother to the couch, where it looked like he’d set up a living room sick-bed. “We never did get to have one of those Christmas mornings.”

“Haven’t seen you since the wedding,” Curly said, his voice suddenly edging on serious. “He’s alright with you bein’ here and all for the holiday?”

“Of course,” Elsie said all too quickly. “He, er, has work to do. Couldn’t get away like I could.”

“And my niece? You’ve brought pictures, I’d bet.”

Elsie bit her lip and sat beside her brother. She pulled out a few folded photographs, creased and poorly shot but the smile of the sitting baby was radiant. 

“Like I wrote, she’s still a bit too young for a train,” Elsie was warmed watching his smile as he studied the girl. “You’ll see her when you’re up for a trip into London.”

He nodded, and suddenly looked overcome by drowsiness. Elsie hadn’t realized the time.

“Jesus, Curly, I hope you haven’t taken too much for the pain,” She shook him gently and he let out a dopey, tired laugh.

“Jus’ whiskey for me. I can’t feel a thing.”

“How will you know when you’re healed, then?” Elsie teased. She stood up and moved to the kitchen to fix him some tea. The kettle was already out and in need of a quick rinse. From the living room, Curly continued to call to her.

“Charlie will want to see you, ‘course,” He said. “And I know Tommy…you’re going over there tomorrow.”

“I assume we’re both invited for dinner,” Elsie tried to sound casual.

“That might be a reunion I ain’t welcome at, I don’t think,” Curly sounded sober and wise for a brief moment, until Elsie returned with a teacup and his child-like grin returned. “It’s good to have you home, Els.”

And so she was left to face him on her own. The following day, another fancy auto puttered up to the house with another aloof driver. Elsie felt somewhat ill, but she refused to let nerves control her. She’d promised herself she would be composed, proud, and cold when she saw him again. Even after all that time, forgiveness has not come easily. Some wounds did not heal without direct treatment, it seemed, and part of her hoped that finding herself in his presence one more time would be enough to close that part of her past for good.

There were times that she didn’t think of him. Plenty of times, in fact. However, if her mind strayed to his memory for whatever godforsaken reason, her heart would lurch as if he were there in front of her. It embarrassed her, the grudge she still held. But she could not deny it.

It was with resolute stiffness that she approached his front door, more grandiose than any entrance she’d seen within range of Small Heath’s center. It was already creaking open and her stomach jumped into her throat. Again, it was not Tommy, but an older woman whom Elsie immediately surmised as the caretaker. She had a pleasant face, and a smile that calmed Elsie somewhat.

“Ah, yes, dear, he’s expecting you,” the woman said hurriedly, ushering Elsie inside. The high ceilings in the foyer made her feel dizzy. Elsie was hypnotized for a moment, staring around in awe until she felt gentle hands batting at her shoulders and realized the housekeeper was attempting to remove her coat. Awkwardly, Elsie slid out of her warm sleeves and gloves, then quietly thanked the woman.

“I’ll, erm, fetch him, shall I? You may make yourself comfortable,” She gestured to a drawing room off to the side before bustling off deeper in the house. Elsie remained rooted, however. Nothing would make her comfortable, not the softest cushions nor the warmest fire.

She surveyed the fine staircase and the edges of golden frames that surely contained magnificent portraits, though she did not take a step closer to view any one of them. In a moment’s quiet, she realized she’d been holding her breath and allowed herself an exhale. He would not see her nervous. Then again, he’d seen her in all sorts of states, hadn’t he? The man had been a myth for so long she’d nearly forgotten he was once a boy she’d known so well. None of those assurances could prepare her, though.

“Ms. Strong.” His voice was just as she remembered it. Soft, but filling the entire room. It was like these walls in particular were built to carry the tune of Thomas Shelby. Her eyes fluttered to his slowly approaching figure and at hearing her former name on his lips she almost forgot to correct him. Almost.

“It’s Mrs. Wood now, actually,” Elsie folder her hands in front of her and regarded him with as polite a look as she could afford. “Going on a few years.”

“My apologies,” Tommy shuffled to a spot a good six feet from her, still in shadow. “And congratulations. ‘s a good name.”

“Half a step down from ‘Strong’.”

“I think Charlie hoped you’d pass it on.” A flash of his close lipped smile took Elsie by surprise, and she tried not to falter.

“It served me well,” She sighed. “But, you know. Man’s world and all.”

“Mm.” He stepped closer to her, now, standing in the gray light cast by the window above the door. “Didn’t think you’d fall prey to it.”

Now that she could fully see him, Elsie was startled. He’d grown handsomer, yet hollower with sharper cheekbones and darker circles beneath exhausted eyes. In physique, not much had changed—he was still recognizable enough to match her memories. But it wasn’t the Tommy she knew.

“Tommy.” It escaped from her lips, but she felt she had to say his name to assert he really was there. Tommy ignored this and stuffed his hands in his pockets, walking past her and into the drawing room.

“Frances should be in shortly with tea,” Tommy took a seat in a regal armchair. To sit first as the host was never a good sign. It was a power move, to prove dominance. Elsie wasn’t sure why he needed to prove anything to her, but she carefully sat across from him on a plump loveseat.

“Your letter invited me to a house, Mr. Shelby,” Elsie said, looking around the room. “This is a bloody fucking palace.” It felt only proper to speak as dirtily as she once had.

“An unfortunate side effect of good business,” He said somewhat smugly, reaching over to the decanter on the end table by his side. “Fancy a glass?”

“What about the tea?”

“Pairs well,” Tommy had already downed his first tumbler of amber liquid and was pouring his second.

“Go on then,” Elsie said, accepting his offer and deciding to more elegantly sip at her drink rather than to knock it back as her host. “Er your wife is…?”

“Joining us for dinner. She’s out with the children,” He said it too quickly, and somehow Elsie could still sense when something was wrong.

“How many do you have?” Elsie remained intent on making pleasant conversation.

“Boy and a girl. And you? Curly mentioned something…”

“Just a girl. Lovely little thing. Name’s Leta.”

Tommy sat back and smiled against his drink.

“You’ve been reading mythology,” He noted.

“I try and read everything these days,” Elsie said, unsure if he was mocking her. “It’s my job, after all. To know. And write.”

“Ah, yes,” Tommy crossed his legs. “A _journalist_. Should’ve guessed you'd go that route.”

“I’m hardly a journalist,” scoffed Elsie. “I have the shortest column in _The Times_ and none of it's news. Your name crops up all the time. Thomas Shelby, O.B.E.” She let the ‘b’ pop a bit for grandeur. Tommy deflected the attempt to turn the conversation towards him.

“I particularly liked the one you did about families of soldiers. How eleven years later the war’s still tearing families apart, something like that?” There was a glint in his eye that wasn’t there before.

“Oh, that one,” Elsie grew slightly red. He really _had_ been reading her work.“My husband didn’t care for it.”

“Did he serve?”

“As a medic. Got his own practice now. He didn’t want kids, at first. He was scared.” Elsie closed her mouth, feeling foolish that she’d gotten personal so quickly. Tommy didn’t seem to mind, on the contrary, he leaned in closer like this was what he’d been waiting for.

“It makes you afraid of everything and nothing. Suppose that’s going to hell and back, for you.”

She saw at once what she’d been afraid to see. Tommy stood up and swirled his drink around.

“So are you happy?” He asked quietly.

“I…yes,” Elsie replied at once, because that was the correct answer.

“Good.”

Tommy tipped the last few drops of whiskey over his lips. As he did, Elsie felt her composure snap like a dry twig.

“Is that why you invited me here?” She queried. “To make sure you didn’t ruin me? To assuage you of an inch of your guilt?”

Tommy turned slowly to appraise her. He still had the incredibly cool glare he’d perfected as a boy, unreachable and as inscrutable as a man at a poker game.

“Guilt?” He repeated. “I have no guilt.”

Elsie was propelled to her feet. Though every word she spoke was venomous, not once she raise her voice.

“Do you know what I went through? Being banished by your hand, leaving me no choice but to scrape by on my own in a feral city. London broke me, but I survived. I started at the bottom, slums and whore houses until I could fucking write well enough to be a typist. It was sheer luck that I climbed my way out of the shit—the shit that _you_ threw me into. Now, NOW of all times, when I’m well off, you want to see me again. For what?” She shook her head and finished her drink. “Just to prove to yourself that you didn’t doom me that day you broke my stupid heart. Well, congratulations. You didn’t fuck up my life. You’re not that damn important. And I’m not going to stand here as evidence that you weren’t wrong to cast me out.”

She put her empty glass down on the end table, and turned to stalk out of the room. He caught up to her right away, catching her elbow and gently tugging her to face him.

“I _was_ wrong,” Tommy said seriously. “For fuck’s sake, of course I was wrong. I wasn’t right in my head. But I knew that. And you knew that. But you still left, didn’t you? I came the next morning to find you gone. Packed your things and went off. And maybe I meant what I said at the time, because I didn’t go after you. I thought, _Good. She got the fuck out of here._ I didn’t invite you here, after fifteen years of regret, just to see that you were alright.”

Elsie carefully wrenched her arm out of his grasp.

“Then why?”

Tommy’s eyes darted back and forth across her face, debating about whether or not to tell her the truth. His voice was like a shrug.

“I put a gun to me head,” He said simply. “And I wanted to blow my brains out. But I didn’t. So the next thing I wanted was someone who saw me. You’re the last person who only remembers what I was before all of this. The last person who could look at me and just see…me.”

The quiet blanketed the horror of his admission. Elsie closed her eyes for a moment before meeting the icy blue of his. She moved back towards him, timidly, and raised her hand up to his cheek. He tensed under her touch, but reached up and pressed her hand tighter against his skin.

“It’s that blue,” Elsie murmured. “Those fucking eyes of yours, like reflective pools. How many people have you tricked into seeing only what they want to see?” She’d intended it as a playful jab, and was relieved when he bitterly smiled.

“Do you see him?” Tommy whispered. “Do you still see me in there?”

Her answer was in her silence, and Tommy closed his eyes but broadened his smile.

“It’s like you said in your article,” He said. “None of those men…the husbands and fathers…not one of them returned from the war.”

Elsie felt her hand grow cold on his face, like he was becoming the ghost she’d imagined him as all those years. When she’d heard he was alive, after all the Shelby brothers came home, she’d sobbed in relief for hours. But this was the first proof she’d had that he was really still there. If he wasn’t in front of her, did he really exist? And now that he _was_ in front of her…was he there at all?

“Tommy.” It felt good to say his name this time. “You didn’t come back, did you?”

His sad smile was familiar, and the first sign of the man she’d known.

“I’m trying, Els. I’m really trying to.”


End file.
